


Duality

by Grunky



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cannibalism, F/M, In a way, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Mental Health Issues, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Original Character(s), These fools should not have reproduced, Violence, You guys are in for a wild ride let me tell you, but they reproduced anyway, long chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grunky/pseuds/Grunky
Summary: A forum RP turned story! Repost of a friend's fic of the same name on FF.net, with permission"When Mathieu Bellamont is ripped from the darkness of the Void, he finds himself in Skyrim during the Fourth Era: Two hundred years after his slaying. Six months after his awakening, the Breton attempts to move on from the darkness of his past. However, when he sees a woman once long lost in his memories, a storm kicks up inside him."





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> As stated, this is a forum RP written between me and a few other, converted into story format. The story was originally edited and posted by my friend and Shealyne's creator over on Fanfiction.Net, and she has given me permission to post it here for all you unfortunate readers!
> 
> Something to note is that this doubles as an alternate universe story for my Bellamont fic, Bound Beyond Death - diverging after chapter 5 of the story. So if you are confused here as to why Mathieu is where he's at in this story, you may want to read chapters 1-5 there. If you still don't know what the hell is going on don't worry - we don't know either half of the time.
> 
> Rating may change to explicit later on due to violence and sexual content.
> 
> All characters belong to their rightful owners.

It was yet another lively, bustling night in Whiterun's inn, the Bannered Mare. Being the provinces main trading center, Whiterun had much business running through it daily, be it anyone from merchant to adventurer to humble farmer, all venturing from their distant residences to stop by the city. Thus, the inns were packed by evening. Sometimes one could barely see the floor below the swathes of people. It could take more than an hour discerning every face from another - much less those that are familiar, or those you planned to see.

Which made a simple job quite frustrating for Mathieu.

When the breton first entered the Bannered Mare, he was constantly pardoning and wading through the crowd until he found space. A single empty chair, tucked in a corner near the back of the room. He sat down. Crossed his arms, a deadpan expression on his face, and started assessing each of those faces in the crowd. Now where was this "informant" Isran ordered him to meet?

An Elven man of Dunmer race ebbed and flowed through the buzzing crowd, merry songs of glory and combat chortling through the livey air. The stale scent of ale was rife in the room, and many times the Dunmer man was in danger of getting his clothes drenched with alcohol from an unsteady Nordic hand.

Despite this, the Dunmer himself sported a drink, roomwarm ale held within the cool metal of a cup, which his free hand promptly defended. The man sported a blue skinned hue, however, was searching for someone. A hunter. Or, more specifically, a hunter from the Dawnguard.

Though it was fairly difficult to find anyone in the packed tavern, the Dunmer man figured a vampire slayer would be easy to find. After a bit of searching, the Elven man spied a Breton male within a lonely corner of the room, sitting in a chair.

The man figured this odd fellow was who he was looking for. Those of the Dawnguard always seemed to be the broody type.

With that, the Dunmer approached, taking a careful swig of his ale as he approached, lips touching the smooth metal rim of his cup. Only once he was done , did the man speak, "You one of Isran's hunters, eh?"

Mathieu looked up at the dunmer, a small smirk on his lips. Well, at least he was more fortunate this time. "Yes, I am. I can assume you're the one he told me to meet?" He spoke in a hushed tone, as so that nobody will overhear, though with tangle of voices in room he highly doubted they would anyway.

"Aye. Sounds right." The man spoke, taking to lean against the nearby wall, "Your kind is a lot more easy to spot than I thought. Them gloomy types, you know?"

"But, I'm sure you got more important things to do than talk to me, yeah?" The Dunmer commented, taking a brief sip of his alcohol, "There's a local farm nearby. Have a lot of steer. But lately, their cattle have been winding up dead by morning. You can guess why. It's quiet. No one hears anything. But the family there claimes they saw a loiter around lately. Black robes, missing eye. Assumed female. The farm is nearby, and hard to miss. The ground there is still flushed red from all the cattle."

"Ah, I see..." Mathieu said, "Then I suppose I'll have to take a trip over there sometime. Pay them a, visit. Anything else I should be aware of? About their... "Friend"?"

"Nothing I assume you hunter types can't handle. Though, the family has been concerned they could be harmed. Just check on 'em, yeah? They'll know more. Maybe you might get lucky, and their friend will come to you?" The Dunmer suggested.

Mathieu nodded, and stood up, "Thanks for the information." Quickly he reached down and produced a small handful of gold from his satchel. He handed them to the dark elf and, without another word, started his way through the crowd and out the inn, all too eager to escape the city and set out to burying a hatchet in this vampire's skull.

Whiterun's tundra wasn't the most ideal area for travel unnoticed, but Mathieu had the darkness of night to aid him. And there were also his black robes. They were nothing like his previous set, which would make him appear as little more than a shadow due to their enchantments, but they were good enough. So he prowled down the plains, blending with the shadows as he approached the farmstead. The breton lunged, pressed his back to the side of the farmhouse. He then surveyed the area, glancing around corners for any sign of this farm's loiter, and waited.

The stillness of the night was almost peaceful, despite the bitter cold. Though no loiter could be seen not. After some time, a scream resonated not from the rolling hills of the tundra, but from inside the farmstead.

The sudden scream from within the very walls Mathieu leaned against broke his focus instantly, just as it did the silence.

"Shit!" He cursed under his breath. It'd be foolish to risk the time in running to the other side of the house and breaking the door open, so he opted for right beside him; war axe in hand, Mathieu spun to the tall yet narrow window at his side. A step back, he wound up, and - SMASH! - glass shards fell away as he rammed his elbow into the window pane, a couple more swifter strikes soon giving him a point of entry. He vaulted through the window - uncaring of the cuts he'd receive from the jutting remains of it - and landed before the unfolding chaos.

Inside, the home would appear almost normal. If not for a man tied upon a chair in the center of the room. Golden strands of hair lay cast astrew around him, his body limp and lightly punctured with what appeared to be the very tip of a blade-which clearly would not be fatal. Blood lazily trickled down his body, crimson pooling upon the wooden floor. His wrists were tied so tightly behind the chair that they were a full shade lighter than his body tone. They were also cut and bleeding-clearly in an attempt to escape. He had bruises upon his neck, though they looked more like hickey marks than anything else. Though the man was very much dead. It appeared that he choked to death on a balled up cloth gag.

Despite that, the scent of burnt flesh wafted from the apparent basement of the home.

Mathieu scoffed at the scene, chiding himself silently for failing to be a step ahead of the vampire despite his utmost focus. The culprit was nowhere to be seen. However, he noticed an acrid scent in the air, and when he followed this smell it lead him away from the dead man, over to the basement door. He cringed. An unbidden thought of a memory long past crossed his mind. Still, like that very time, he descended the basement stairs, intent on finding the person he came here for.

The basement was rather dreary, yet at the same time, erie. The corpse of a young man lay upon the floor, stabbed several times. The body of a naked female was chained to a wall, a black sack over her head. Blood was smeared upon her body, though it was difficult to see the type of wounds she had in the darkness.

Sitting in a chair near the corner was a body-clearly the source of the stench. The body was burnt to a crisp, and nearly impossible to characterize due to the damage. The body sported the black robe of a Black Hand member, and upon their one finger rest a golden wedding ring. A satchel lay on the floor, as well as a piece of parchment, perhaps a suicide note.

Mathieu grimaced as the scent of burnt flesh became ever sharper, but still he kept calm even as a glimpsed upon the three bodies. Then he noticed the black robes. The vampire? As he headed toward the burnt body he soon recognized it - and his heart raced. The Black Hand robes. Even in its nigh charred state he knew it well. The body was too burnt for him to discern the figure, whether it was a vampire or not, so he kept tense as he picked up the piece of parchment he saw beside the body. Mathieu unfurled it and read.

On the note was a simple sentence. It merely read thus; "No words exist to describe what I once was."

As the Breton read, a brief clicking noise that signaled the unlocking of one the chains around the naked victims's wrists clicked. Despite the unlocking of the chains, the now freed arm moved not. It was actually quite unclear how the chain seemed to unlock itself.

Mathieu's head snapped to the direction of the click, but he saw no movement beside the naked woman's limp arm drop. No one in the shadows of the basement. Only him. Keeping aware of every possible sight and sound Mathieu decided to fumbled through the satchel the note had rested on.

Whilst fumbling through the bag, Mathieu would find a bunch of random things: a simple cloth shirt, leather laced pants, a few bottles of alcohol, a few phials of blood, needle and thread, an ink well and quill, paper, and random flowers-which were generally bent or broken.

Though the most interesting thing of note was that an aged book was present. Actually, it looked exactly to be the man's old diary. If two hundred some years old. It was kept in good condition, even if the pages had turned yellow with age.

Mathieu had fully realized it until he shifted his attention from his surroundings. The faded green cover, indented with diamond-shaped designs. He flipped it open and there it was - in red letters. "It's all right, mother. It's almost over..."

It was his diary. Written two centuries ago.

Mathieu was stunned silent. Paralyzed, nearly. "Why would anyone?..." The breton began to take in the other items he'd lain around himself. Clothes, writing equipment, overall far less astonishing things. Except the phials of blood. So, this must've been the vampire he was ordered to hunt down, there was no other evidence, but...

"No. No, it can't possibly be... It could be anyone..." A heavy sigh racked his lungs. Mathieu shook his head vigorously, clearing the mere suggestion away, trying to calm himself in case there was anyone else - anyone else ALIVE - with him in this house.

...

... What? Damn this bag! Shealyne couldn't entirely see what was happening, save for the fact that she could see the man's heartbeat, but little else. What was he muttering about?

Fuck. Shealyne thought she was supposed to be ambushing a woman, not a man! Sithis damn it all!

But...that voice...it sounded like? No. No, no. It was just her head playing tricks on her. It was just a man who sounded like him. Or herself thinking he did.

Still...

The woman moved slowly, ever so slowly, to push the bag up so she could see what was going on with her sole eye-an action that she knew was very possible in blowing her play-dead cover.

While she only saw a brief glimpse at the man, it was enough to spread cold fear in her dead chest, and she swiftly put the bag back over her head, as if to hide. Fuck!

Mathieu was thankful all those sleepless nights had trained him to listen to every slight sound, no matter how minor. He hadn't been paying attention until he heard the faintest shuffling. He glanced up. It came from the naked woman again. Suspicious, he stood up (though his legs felt a bit shaky from his sudden shock spell) and headed over to the woman to inspect it further.

While the female could not see through the bag, she could at least see his lifeforce coming closer to her. Her body went tense. Damn! He saw! Or heard! Whichever one it was. But was that truly...?

No. No, no. That was impossible. While drawing breath was not necessary due to vampirism, Shealyne found the lack of breathing strange, as well as scary. And in the rising stress of the situation, the female drew breath-ever so slightly.

Mathieu narrowed his eyes. Instinctively raising his war axe over his head, ready, he clutched the bag covering the naked womans head and threw it over his shoulder - stopping dead at the face underneath. He just, stared. At the face, the woman he was all too familiar with.

Shealyne stared with her sole eye, which was white and wide from fear and shock. A hand, rather than going to attack, instantly went to cover her damaged eye socket, which was heavily scarred and marred, the eye gone, having been stabbed out. The wound was then burned in a desperate form to cauterize it, which one could easily tell by the scars.

This wasn't supposed to happen! She was supposed to be the hunter! But instead, the impossible...it seemed to be...possible? How? Why? Now because of that, she was like a scared pathedic kitten! And her first damn reaction was to hide her scar. Why? Because she was worried that he wouldn't see her as pretty anymore? Pfff! He had a damn axe!

But, still...he had paused. He was staring at her, just as she was staring at him.

Shealyne wanted to say something, but found that her tongue forgot to form words, a ball forming in her throat. So she stared, breath becoming ragged and frantic as her chest began to heave.

Were she mortal, her cheeks would be flushed a red hue of embarrassment-or perhaps turn pale from fear, and her heart would be pounding. Her lower lip quivered ever so slightly, creasing into a frown, as if in an effort to prevent herself from beginning to cry.

Mathieu didn't know what to do. How to react, besides just stand and gawk. For so long he drilled in his mind that he'd never see this woman again. That she had traveled somewhere far away, someplace he'd never venture, or that she had been killed. Yet here she was. What's more, is that she was the one he'd been ordered to kill. The fiend he had to slaughter in service to the Dawnguard.

When they had both been silent for too long, Mathieu mustered the voice to say, "...Shealyne?... It's been too long. Two centuries... And yet I still haven't forgotten." He lowered his axe, though not fully.

The woman simply frowned at that, brow creasing in worry and confussion. When she attempted to speak, at first, she failed. Though upon the second time, she found her voice, though it was shaken and broken, as if spoken in disbelief and heartbreak, "...M...Mathieu? M-mmm...b...but...how? W-why?"

She didn't understand. He wasn't a vampire. He wasn't a ghost. How? Oh, but it was so good to hear his voice again! And he hasn't forgotten? Oh! He hasn't forgotten! He hasn't! Never mind the axe he had!

Shealyne was confused. She was sad, but she was happy. And confused, and scared, and worried, "I...I am glad you have not forgotten...it...it touches my heart, even pains it, even if it does not beat..."

Mathieu was able to manage a small smile with some difficulty. "You could have had me, fooled, really. That corpse... Your, possessions..." He backed up. Only a step. He looked her over, then narrowed his eyes, "What are you doing up there - waiting?... For your, next victim perhaps?" The last words sounded far more caustic then he intended, but he still awaited an answer. He needed to know. With so much time passed, how could he be sure about things?

His last words appeared to strike a nerve within the woman. Or, rather, she just instinctively shot back in response, venom laced within her words, "Do not speak to me as if you are better."

Though as soon as she said that, the Sauveterre exhaled deeply, tone becoming one of a fatigued note, if docile, "I did not mean that. I am winded. My trap worked, alas, I...did not expect you." The Breton pierced her thin lips together, head shaking, "Never you."

"I am being hunted by the Dark Brotherhood. I found that this den was housing its members, and they were slaughtering their cattle, and carving messages within the inner flesh. Someone else would come, slay a cow, and carve a message within the new one. The last one I found stated that a woman would come here. Alas, only you came, and my trap is ruined." The woman ended her thought, though pointed to the burnt corpse, "Can you get my robes, please? And the ring-but do not wear it."

The woman wasn't sure if her Brother believed her. She could be quite the liar. But she had no reason to stay here anymore, and she no longer wished to be naked around Mathieu. He might not like her anymore...

She would have to bathe as well. She had cut herself several times to mimic death. Despite the wounds, she cared more about the cleanliness of her shirt and pants. Her robe can be as dirty as she desired-however ruined-until she cleaned it.

Mathieu nodded silently, and went to retrieve her robes and ring. When he did he returned to her, and held them out as he waited for her to undo her bindings. "Ah. Well, I apologize for my, intrusion. You should know I wouldn't have done so had I been aware..." He was about to admit, tell her why he was truly here, but he thought better of it, pursed his lips. Who would take kindly to knowing you were sent here to kill them?

"The brotherhood still hunts you, then? Not much has changed since we last... Saw each other, hm?" Of course things have changed. He didn't know how he kept himself so casual about it.

"It is fine..." Shealyne spoke as she undid her bindings. Upon being handed her items, she took them, "Thank you, lo-er, Mathieu."

Hmmm. The Breton guessed old habbits died hard as she put on her robes and put the ring in a pocket. The woman then went to her satchel, and began putting the objects inside, "You speak as if...as if it were only yesterday. But I do not understand. How are you alive, here? Do you even know?"

Oh! She had much to tell Mathieu! If he actually wanted to speak with her. And if her lack of an eye didn't send him running for the hills. But he smiled! He smiled at her! Shealyne would take that as a good sign! Yay!

He faltered. A troubled expression on his face, he stared off as he mulled over it. "I'm... I'm afraid I don't know why. I've tried but I cannot find an answer. It's like I was never, dead. Simply, alive. After so long in the... The..." His voice lowered, sounding as if a hiss from a snake, "So long in that wretched BLACK."

The woman's brow furrowed as she finished collecting the items. Uh, oh. She hoped he wouldn't end up getting unhindged as she turned to face the male, "Are you well? It is fine. You do not have to dwell upon it." She would simply leave it be if it disturbed him.

"It's nothing. Truly. I'd expect you to be bemused... It must be more than strange for you I'm sure, to see me like this, as if I never died?" Mathieu said. It seemed like he had composed himself again. The man noticed Shealyne was finished putting her items back, and figured she'd want to be leaving soon. Go ahead, he thought. He didn't have other plans for tonight, anyway. And they had much, much more to discuss.

"It is strange. But it is also a shame you did not come back sooner." The woman spoke, putting on her boots that were in a corner, and focusing on getting her weapon-which was Dawnfang. Shealyne then recovered a dagger, safe in its scabbard.

The Sauveterre simply held the enchanted dagger towards Mathieu, "Here. I kept your blade. It is in good shape."

The woman then pierced her lips together slightly, "I do not know where I will go, after tonight. But I will not stay here." She would probably just bathe right after leaving this farm. And probably wedge her bony ass in a hollowed out tree and sleep in it.

Mathieu accepted the blade, though quite astonished. First she keeps his diary, and then his old blade? Had she truly made a point to keep pieces of his memory even now? "I, thank you, Shealyne. Though I'm surprised you've been keeping this with you. And my diary... It's quite touching."

He took some time to unsheathe the blade, grazing his finger across the edge, feeling the slight chill that ran through him from the frost effect still strong on it. Then he strapped it to his left side, right above the war axe.

"... If you wish, you could come with me. I don't have a planned destination yet but I, wouldn't mind the company."

The female Breton watched Mathieu inspect the weapon, and was quite please he accepted it, "You are welcome." Shealyne smiled slightly. Though she assumed keeping a dagger and an old diary were nothing compared to popping out a child. But the Sauveterre had no need to inform him now and risk over informing the man and making him go into shock or something. Her poor Brother.

"I...I believe I would fancy that, if you were to allow." Shealyne had a lot to tell him. But she didn't want to tell him things all at once. She was glad Mathieu wanted to spend time with her. Or at least speak with her. Yay! And it meant she could finally talk someone's ear off! Double yay!

"Thank you for the offer. I believe I will accept." The Sauveterre resumed to lightly smile before turning to the few but steep steps that led to the outside, double hindged doors of the basement guarding the way out. Shealyne just pushed them open, and realized there was no railings to grab onto. Who made steep steps but didn't bother to put in railings? Someone might fall!

Mathieu followed Shealyne through the bulkhead door closely - perhaps too closely for her comfort... Pah! Old habits, he supposed. It was still peculiar, this situation; at first he believed her well and gone and held to the resolve that near the time he died was the last he'd ever see of her, then that belief seemed to prove true in her little trick with the burnt corpse (which he should've took note of the the robes being untouched by fire, now that he thought of it.) But no. She was with him and they were about to travel together, just like before... But that wasn't wise. He couldn't act with her as if it once was. She's been able to LIVE for the past two centuries, unlike him - and she must have moved on long ago despite what she's been keeping.

So... Don't act like her lover anymore. Simple.

Perhaps fresh air could clear his mind. Ah, but was still so good to see her again! So good to have something from his past life reappear. And damn the Dawnguard, just for now, he wanted to relish in it for awhile. And the Brotherhood. Oh yes, the Brotherhood... At last, there was someone who just might share with him the answers he needed!

As Shealyne made her way up the steps, she briefly looked back-for she could practically feel someone in her personal space bubble. Oh, Sithis, talk about a lack of pesonal space-or at least to her liking. The woman figured if she just suddenly stopped, Mathieu might just very well bump into her.

This was confusing to Shealyne as she moved up the last step and walked out into the chill tundra night. Shealyne knew she shouldn't jump to conclusions-or rash impulses and act as if Mathieu was her lover once again-for she was sure he moved on, though she did not know how long he was alive. That, and it would be rude. But the brief moment that he was following her so closely seemed to hold a shadow of their former intimacy.

Shealyne guessed old habits died hard for him, too. Oh, but it was nice to be near him again! And hear his voice! She would need to learn what he has been doing. It would be fun, no?

The outdoors felt very much welcome. When the two stepped out, it was land stretching for miles out of their sight beyond the fence of the farmstead, cool breeze rolling over the hills. Mathieu's long hair whipped in his face at the frequent gusts of wind. Damn. Maybe he should've tied it back this time. He never bothered to care for it anymore, it seemed.

"Do you have anything, immediate, to tend to? I'm sure we'll have much time to speak what we want to."

Shealyne rubbed her eye, yawning a bit. Ugh. Damn, "Yes. My hygiene needs immediate tending to. Is there a place we can meet?"

"Just somewhere a few paces away from the White River, maybe? I presume that's where you're heading."

"The White River is the one flowing along Whiterun?" Shealyne questioned. Well, that was a dumb question. She was pretty sure it was the only river near Whiterun. But then again, it ran three ways. Kind of. She didn't bother to learn the names of these places, unless it was a capital.

Mathieu smiled at her, somewhat amused. "Yes, that's the one. I will wait not too far from you."

The woman nodded, smiling slightly, "Very well. I shan't be long." With that, the Breton made her way in the direction of the river. At least, the river she assumed was the correct one. It was a damn big river.

Then a thought occured to her. Awe! How sweet! He was going to wait nearby! Mortals and their emotional softness! Not that Shealyne was a brick wall of iron feelings. Though she had been called a brick wall with tits before. That was new. Huh...she wondered what that meant?

Mathieu let Shealyne stray from his sight before he too started towards the river, stopping by the road that ran with the rivers length sitting down near a large, sharp rock. He unrolled a map from his satchel. Where to go? He'd have to halt Dawnguard business for awhile if Shealyne planned to stay for a few days, so a trip to the Rift felt a bit pointless. There was investigating some Nordic Ruins near here or Falkreath. Or... He could pay a visit to the Reach. It's been a few weeks since he sent Eola off on her way.

Shealyne normally would have taken her time to bathe, though this time, she did not. While she was swift, she was firm with her cleaning, washing away the blood and grime. She was excited! It was a strange feeling. But she knew that they would most likely part ways. She was sure Mathieu was a busy man. He was always ambitious.

The woman was so lost in thought that she failed to notice a shrouded stalker, bow poised to launch an arrow. Shealyne became aware, however, when she heard the bow string snap. It was a shame she could not react faster than an arrow, for in a shocked hitch of breath, the projectile found itself in her stomach.

If the shooter was aiming to kill her-or had the knowledge of her vampirism-was unknown. While normally a fatal wound to mortals, it was not so for she. Yet that did not mean that it hurt any less, or that she could physically shrug the wound off.

Rather, the inertia from the arrow caused her to stumble backwards, and slip into the water.

There was an abrupt splash among the low sound of the rippling water. Mathieu snapped his head toward the river then - he bolted up from his spot and rushed to the river back. It was not far. And soon he spotted Shealyne, fallen in the water, arrow lodged in her stomach. The sight prompted anger. Much, swift anger; it caused him to turn on his heel, catching a blur of movement in the direction Shealyne was shot and out of the corner of his eye. On impulse he chased after it.

Uh-oh. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Upon realizing the prowler was being chased, they promptly turned on their heels and ran. They didn't expect to be chased! This was bullshit!

Shealyne, on the other hand, managed to keep herself on the rocky river side, laying upon her back, blood trickling from her wound that stained the river red. Ow. It hurt. Shakenly-for she was still in shock-the woman reached for the shaft of the arrow. Ow! Touching it seemed to make it worse! Though the Breton figured that was in her head. She knew what needed to be done. It was just a matter of will powering through it.

A tear involuntarily ran down her face-though it was impossible to see with her face being wet. Gripping the shaft firmly, the Sauveterre held her breath, and in one swift movement, ripped the metal and wood from her stomach.

It hurt more gong out that going in. A bit like pregnancy-which crossed her mind-of all things. She would have cried out, had the pain not stolen the breath from her lungs.

Good. Good. It was out. The woman's body went lax as she threw the offending arrow away. Now she just had to tend to the wound...

Mathieu was able to catch up on the prowler in what seemed to be their startlement, and as they fled the breton's long legs carried him nearer and nearer. He reached out, lurched forward on the figure, even if just a small overestimate sent him hurtling to the ground and the one he pursued, free.

The bowmen released a high pitched, girlish scream as they ended up tripping over the uneaven terrain and face planting in their haste to get away. Which was quite a feat, since the prowler was male.

Mathieu crashed into the prowlers backside just as the figure tripped. Momentarily stunned from the action. Then he crawled on top of the other man, and roughly spun him over on his back. This caused the prowler's hood to fall. "Speak, snake!" Mathieu snarled. Try as he may to counter, Mathieu had the mans limbs pinned down.

The man flailed-or tried to-and squirmed. He spat upon the Breton's face, "Why do you waver in your kill, hunter?" The man asked, tone harsh despite his obvious fear.

"Imagine-Isran finding out-what will you do, then?" The man then smiled slightly, "I am only helping you do your job."

Mathieu faltered. He looked at the fellow hunter with disbelief - dammit, Isran had told him this job was for him alone! Did he not have confidence in him yet? His mind was fixed on binding and interrogating a Dark Sibling, foremost.

After a moment, he sneered. Mathieu lowered himself so that his lips pressed the hunter's ear and replied in a hushed tone, "Let Isran find out - let him know that I will not kill the vampire yet, because I am USING her. I suspect that, from what I've found, that she is far older and holds far more information than we first realized. She does not know I hunt her, and she has even taken to trusting me. I plan to use this to our advantage, fellow hunter."

The man snorted slightly, "Very well...and what do you hope to gain?" Well, at least he was safe from getting killed. Hmmm. Wait. Ops. Guess he shouldn't have put poison on that arrow. Oh, well. The man would probably find out whenever he went back to the filthy leech.

"Locations. Connections. Anything that may give us insight to where more of the beasts reside. It may take time, but I will try to coax this information out one way, or another. And if that is for naught? She is dead. And nothing will be lost besides a little time."

"Fine, fine...can you let me go? You're creeping me out." The man whined, wanting to be let go.

Mathieu got off of the man. "Go. Quickly. And tell Isran he need not worry of insubordination from me." The breton then turned back where he came, wanting to return to Shealyne quickly. He did not know if she was still lying there or if she tried to mend her wounds herself.

The man quickly got up and skulked off, not wanting to almost be killed again. Or at least chased.

Shealyne would be laying in the same spot she pulled the arrow at. Though she certainly didn't look good. Her body was spasming and seizing, muscles locking and unlocking. She seemed to be more like a bloated tick popping, since blood was rupturing from her mouth and nose. Her eye was hemoraging as well, the visual organ having rolled to the back of her head. It was a bit difficult to tell if blood was seeping from her ears as well, but there was certainly quite the bit of blood.

Her hands clenched and unclenched, limbs spasming in sporatic movements, as if one were having a seizure.

"-Fuck!"

It seemed barely a second before Mathieu was at Shealyne's side. This must be poison. That bastard must have poisoned his shot. And, seeing the woman in this horrid state, he started to wish he had beat that man. Just a little. He fished through his satchel. Keys, provisions, his new diary... With trembling fingers he finally dug out a few small vials. He'd written certain symbols to them to denote their purposes; a poison, tonic for diseases, two for healing. He swore he had one to quell poison, though?

He'd have to make do. Mathieu opened the healing vial, grasped the back of Shealyne's head, tilted it, and attempted to pour the liquid into her mouth. He cursed himself for his peculiar lack of magicka. It would ease this situation far more effectively.

While her choking and gagging made it difficult to administer the potion-much less keep it down-the contents that did make it aleviated the the symptoms. Her body slowly began to cease its spasming and relax, until she simply went still and quiet, head lolling off to the side, eye closing.

Her comatose state was short lived, for her eye fluttered open, blood turning the rim of her eye red. Actually, her eye was bloodshot. Shealyne simply stared at Mathieu, too tired to do anything else. She wasn't sure what happened, but her whole body felt like it was on fire. She went to say something, but only bubbled out blood and a soft groan. Her hand then reached up, shaking and jerky, towards Mathieu. While it was unsure if she was actually reaching for him, since it could have simply been her lack of coordination in her recovery.

Mathieu didn't think the potion would entirely rid the spasms, more so just lessen it, but he was thankful when her body went still. Though, she looked bad. As her hand reached for him he took it in his. Carefully draped her arm around his neck as he held her closer. Not too close. Mathieu wiped the blood from her mouth, beginning to check her over and procure some materials that may help heal the arrow wound in her stomach.

"Don't speak. Rest." He demanded.

Shealyne wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she was quite glad Mathieu took her hand. It made the situation less scary, since she wasn't sure what happened to herself. Her arm that was draped around his neck hung abit limply, though her fingers curled upon him, as if to gain support.

Despite the suggestion, the Breton did not want to sleep. But fighting sleep in her current state was nigh impossible, she herself drifting off to sleep, only to wake herself several times.

"S...sorry..." Shealyne whispered softly. And that was all that she managed to say before she ended up falling into a deep sleep, her grip becoming lax upon him.

Mathieu sighed softly. With Shealyne asleep the man rested her back on the ground and went to careful work. He checked to see if more blood pooled from her mouth, making sure she wouldn't possibly choke on it. After applying a bit of his disease tonic to the arrow wound as best as he could, he slowly rolled linen wrap around her stomach. It may not have completely helped. He was sure there was still poison in her system - the health potion would only settle some of its effects.

Once that was done, Mathieu retrieved her belongings near the bank. He didn't bother trying to dress her. Instead he covered Shealyne in her robes to act like a makeshift blanket as he picked her up... Now where? Mathieu noted some cramped spot right at the river's edge, where land and rock and inclined outward to make a natural cover. So he went there. He sat down, Shealyne still cradled in his arms, and watched the water rush and nip at his boots. Just another sleepless night.

Shealyne would remain in a deep torpor until morning. The woman roused herself from her slumber, red iris greeting the new day behind newly opened lids. The woman groaned slightly, confused at where she was. At least she felt a lot better compared to last night. Wait...was she being held? She felt like an infant wrapped in her robes!

"Awake at last?" Mathieu greeted her passively. One of his arms was wrapped around Shealyne's back, supporting her slightly, while his other was rooting through his satchel he had laid next beside him on the ground. "I do hope you, slept, well."

"Sssorry." The woman murmured. She imagined her poor Brother killed his arm supporting her dead weight. A bit literally. Ugh. She was starving.

"I hhhope you slept. Your arm mmmust be tired." Huh? Was...was she slurring? She wasn't hung over, was she? Fuck. She hoped it went away, or was just her imagination.

The Breton moved to sit up right to give Mathieu's arm a break. Ow. She shouldn't have done that. It hurt her stomach. But she could power through it. She didn't want Mathieu supporting her constantly. She wasn't weak. Just partially danger prone, apparently. Or at least around Mathieu, which irritated her. Hmmph.

Mathieu furrowed a brow. That slurring was certainly the poison taking effect. With his misplacement of his spare poison cure, they'd have to go to Whiterun and to the alchemist's. Or the temple healers, depending on the concentration of poison.

"It's... Nothing, Shealyne." He said.

In his bag there was few food for them to eat. A loaf of stale bread and a rather large wrapped package of salted meat, mainly... And it was best to leave the meat be, anyway... Wait, did she know? Had he confessed that one time - no, he couldn't remember, so he assumed he hadn't. He handed the bread to Shealyne along with a waterskin. "It'd be best to eat first... It's not much, but I was planning to stop by Whiterun, today..."

The woman frowned slightly. She figured the male was lying about it being nothing. Still, the woman pushed the offered bread and waterskin away, "Nnnno. Keep it. For yourselfff. I lllive on blood and...and alcohol. I vommmit up anny normal food."

It was a shame. She bought a sweetroll once because it just looked and smelled so good. But when she ate it, she instantly vomited. It was a tragedy.

"I just...need...then...I will be better..." The Breton muttered, attempting to get up, or at least get to her satchel. It was more like a toddler bumbling through their first steps, though managed to open her satchel, and upon fumbling through it, and pulling out two blood phials. Popping the cork off one, she proceeded to feed, her other hand searching a bit blindly for her clothes, eventually finding them.

Mathieu looked on at Shealyne worriedly, but eventually decided to have his fill of bread and water before putting them back. "You were attacked last night, shot by an arrow... Perhaps you remember that." He explained, "I was going to come aid you sooner but, I found the culprit and gave chase... He's dead now." The breton frowned. "You're poisoned, Shealyne. When I returned you were having, spasms, and there was... There was quite a bit of blood. I tended to you the best I could but I could not fully rid the poison. That's why we're going to Whiterun. We need a tonic for it, or even a healer."

The woman would have responded, but her lips were currently pressed to her blood phial. With a soft 'pop', Shealyne slipped her lips off of the glass rim, "Nno. I am fine. Will be fine."

"I cccan go into town. Get you things. Provisssions, yes? You can rest, then, no?" The Breton questioned, shifting to face away from Mathieu as she removed her robes, pooling them around her hips. Her naked back was to him as she put on her shirt.

"Tsk - I doubt that. You're slurring." Mathieu stared on at Shealyne for quite some time... But he shook his head. "But if you so wish to do that for me, I won't decline."

"Furf!" The woman exclaimed in response, her shirt now safely on. She focused on positioning her robes into a mound to block the man's view of her butt as she worked on getting on her pants. For some reason she felt embarrassed to be naked around him. The first time, not so much, because she was in too much shock to find out Mathieu was, well, alive. And with the arrow she did not know up from down. So...she did not entirely count that. Still...she did not know why. She just was. But she doubted he was interested.

"Of coursh. If I still know yyou, it ish that you can neglect yourshelf. And I do not want that. For you to neglect yourshelf. Then I cannot spend time with you. Real time. Real talking." Shealyne frowned slightly as she got her pants on. They have just been in good situations to talk ever since they met again.

"... I suppose you're right. It's been most, inopportune to spend quality time, hm?"

Mathieu stood up, though he stumbled first as his numb arm buckled beneath him. His nerves must've fallen asleep. At least there was no ache - yet. He gathered his things and stepped out of this little alcove. "Whenever you're ready, then."

"I am. Ready, thhat is." The Breton spoke, putting her items in the satchel and grabbing her robe before stuffing it in her bag. Hmmmm. On second thought...maybe she should wear her robes? Her shirt did a piss poor job at hiding the curvature of her breasts-much less the natural jiggily motion as she walked or actually ran. Never mind the tenderness of her nipples when she got cold.

Eh. She kind of cared. But then she didn't. She was too old to wear a bra-or, rather-was too old to care properly. If men looked, that was their own problem. She couldn't control her breasts.

...wait. Was that what a man meant when he called her a brick wall with tits?

The Sauveterre snapped herself out of her trivial thoughts, and simply followed Mathieu out of the little alcove. Her robes could remain stuffed away. She figured they could unnerve people if worn.

Whiterun wasn't a far walk from where they were. Merely past the Honningbrew Meadery, and another, more thriving farmstead from the one they had been to, and they'd be taking a right up the path to the grand wooden gates, into the city. Mathieu was silent with Shealyne the way there - mostly because he wasn't sure if the poison was putting her in the most right state of mind for talking.

Shealyne remained silent as well. Mainly because she figured Mathieu simply did not want to talk. She did, however, speak to ask a question, "Hhhow is your armm?"

"Fine, now. It was numb when I first moved it again."

"Hmmm. Mmasshaging it could help. It helps eases the nerves. And shtuff." The Sauveterre spoke. She was currently fighting a yawn. And thus exposing her fangs.

...Well, now that he actually paid it any mind Mathieu did feel the pain creeping up his arm, causing him to flinch - yet he simply shrugged it off. "Yes, of course. I'll tend to it when we're done." Hm. He must have seemed quite irritable with Shealyne right now. Maybe he does need some sleep...

As they walked through the streets to the market district, some of the locals passing the two said quick greetings, though they seemed to favor Mathieu by saying "friend," or even mumbling something like "thanks, again..." A few children started to tail the man, tugged on his robe, asked him things excitedly, but Mathieu shooed them off with a dismissive wave. Because of this, he asked Shealyne, "Do you come here often?"

Shealyne grunted slightly, falling silent. Damn, and people called her a bitch. She figured Mathieu was already annoyed with her. Either that, or it was the lack of sleep. Mortals needed their sleep, after all. Shealyne went through more events in one night than most people experienced in a day's time of events, and she wasn't griping and sulking about sounding like she was a fat cow with a sweetroll stuffed in its mouth. Oh, well.

Shealyne did find it odd-and even slightly vexing-that these random children were poking and prodding near her. Even if their target was her companion. Hmmmm. Mathieu must have been here quite a while to form a rapport with these children. If those children did the same to her, she would probably slap their heads into the next hold. Uggghh. The horror of children...she could barely stand her own. Even now, as adults. Adults that still acted like children.

Her thoughts, however, were broken as she heard Mathieu speak, "Oh, no. I travvvel a losh. I probably will go to Shyrodiil, soon. Very soon. I ashume you do? Come here a lot? The cccchildren like you."

"Why, yes... It seems I've made quite the name for myself here... Especially here. Word spreads quick. Had come here more often, you may have heard about me sooner. Even the children know what I've done." Mathieu said. He flashed his companion a smile, possibly to ease the tension between them, then resumed to the marketplace.

... Cyrodiil, though. He still held a desire to go back to that province, see how things have changed. With these recent wars the Empire was in things doubtlessly have. Mainly, though, it was because of the Brotherhood. He once kept tabs and notes of some, if not most, of the locations of the sanctuaries there through months of patient tracking and waiting. He wondered if it was worth it. To see if they still thrived.

"Hmmph. I abhor Skyrim." The woman grunted slightly. She did not bother to return the smile. Partly because she did not feel like smiling, and partly to not expose her fangs.

"And what ish it thhhat you have done?" The Sauveterre questioned. Her Brother probably accomplished more than her in the time he came back than in the two hundred years she dilly dallied around.

"It wasn't welcoming to me, either. At first. But I came here, did a few favors for the citizens, the Jarl's court, even... And then I had slain a dragon. Before it could ravage this city." Mathieu explained. He hadn't bore further details on those events to her. And he didn't want to yet. It was still truth that he had delivered the finishing blow to that dragon, whether or not he had absorbed its soul and unlocked powers of the blood he never knew he had.

"I just do not like it. I have a home in Cyrodiil. Or hhad. Trolls destroyed it. Alas, I amm not a carpenter, and had no coin. I could not stay." The Sauveterre replied. Hey! Her speech was getting better! Yay!

"Though I have fffaught several dragons before. They are giant push ovvvers. I faught...onnne near Dragon's Bridge...one sommewhere else with Nol...and...oh, the three that attacked Riften. The one near Dragon's Bridge, I killed. I was with my daughter in law. She was a coward. She summoned a Daedra and ran away. And the othher, I let Nol kill. And I only actually faught one out of three dragons. A bunch of other people were fighting the two that were innn the city. I was fighting outside the city. My daughter in law killed that one." Shealyne nodded, as if to confirm.

Though the last one was scary. Shealyne was too busy trying to keep Aiden alive and not chocking to death on his own blood. Thank Sithis Ruccia grew a pair of tits. It only took the novice mage seeing her husband dying to do that...

"But, thhey are not so hard. At least when you have magic. Fighting them is a lot harder wiiith a blade, unless you can get on their back and stab out their eyes. Or sllash their tendons." But both of that was dangerous. Still, riding a dragon like an angry stallion was fun.

Mathieu scoffed. Of course, make his actions seem like child's play compared to her. He wasn't sure if what she spoke was before or after his encounter; from their reaction the Whiterun guard acted as if dragons didn't exist before now. Though, he believed he had heard of a few dragon slayings not done by his own hand. The time of those attacks, though, were not discerned. Mathieu was curious of this Nol figure she spoke of. But that wasn't the matter here. The breton snapped his head at Shealyne,

"I didn't have magic on my side then. Only a simple bow and sword and shield. And perhaps it wasn't the slaying itself that made this city favor me, but the fact that I had consumed that dragon's very soul before men's eyes and dissipated that beast into a mere skeleton! A feat only the Nordic legend of the Dragonborn can achieve!"

And he only realized his mistake after the fact. Shit. He just snapped at Shealyne, for nothing more than a small quip she made?

Shealyne didn't respond, at least right away. Rather, she frowned, "I apologize." She didn't mean to upset or offend him. She was just trying to talk. But instead she said something wrong on accident and he got mad. She thought talking to Mathieu would be nice, but all she did was get snapped at. It was probably her fault, anyway. Her social graces were not up to par, given to her living alone in Cyrodiil for so long. She still wasn't good at the jokes everyone seemed to tell. And forget flirting. She probably wouldn't notice it even if a dragon landed on her little shack of a home.

Though...what was that of a Dragonborn? Was Mathieu a Septim? A long, long, long lost Septim? They were Dragonborn. So it made sense to her. She wasn't sure what he was babbling about dragons and flesh, but that was okay. Whatever he was getting at, it was okay with her.

Mathieu backed away. As quickly as his expression changed from tired to irate, it had softened, and he said nothing for a long while. By the Nine why did he do that? Why? She had merely said she had killed dragons before, killed them quite easily in fact. Was it really the sense of wounded pride?... How petty. He had acted like some child getting beaten in a game he thought he couldn't lose at... And still, he felt rage. His hands were nearly shaking with anger... Bah. Tiredness didn't help his pointless temper, either.

Mathieu sighed. His eyes downcast. "Don't. I, apologize. It was... Unreasonable of me. You said nothing, it was just that I - hfff... I'm going to the alchemists'. I'll be dwelling near there. But go wherever you wish." With that, he went off into the crowded market square, disappearing into Arcadia's Cauldron.

"It is ffine, Mathieu." Shealyne spoke, though she did not know if the man heard her or not as he walked off. Hmmph. His temper did not change. But that was okay. That was what made Mathieu, well, Mathieu. And the Sauveterre was fine with that. She just hoped their conversations stopped being so antagonistic. Or at least not fun.

The woman had no intention of wandering anywhere, and simply decided to wait outside of the alchemist's shop for her Brother. The only place she would have had interest going was the pretty dead tree, but then that man would ruin her self contemplation by screaming his lungs out about Talos. That, and she smelled wolves nearby. Whiterun was not entirely safe.

Mathieu took longer than normal at the alchemist's shop. He already bought the potions he needed - two or three poison tonics included, one of which he'd give to Shealyne immediately - and now he was waiting. Pretending to browse, but really just clearing his mind. He had downed a strong fatigue potion when he bought it. Luckily, it made him feel less tired, and thus, tetchy. The breton truly didn't want to act like this further with Shealyne in their time together; finally he had someone who knew him from his past life, whom he could talk to freely and not keep his inner troubles from. Even Eola wasn't aware that he died once.

Once he was finally relaxed, Mathieu exited the shop.

Shealyne was outside, dwelling upon her thoughts. Though occassionally she looked to the sky, searching for that damned watchman. The raven wouldn't be hard to spot-with its mini set of Daedric armor upon it. Shealyne never knew birds could wear armor before. At least, not normal corvids. This raven was not normal. She was worried. Whenever that bird was near, she thought it meant the Listener was never far away. Or, at least, the odd bird was her eyes and ears.

It made her tense, and nervous, whenever she saw that bird. Runa hurt one of her brothers by lacing a weapon with skooma-and it was quite clear she had intended to hurt Aiden in order to hurt their mother. Shealyne didn't want Runa hurting Aiden even further, or Connor, for that matter. Shealyne didn't understand. Was she that bad of a mother that her own daughter would attempt to harm her own brothers in spite of Shealyne, herself?

Shealyne didn't know. She hoped not. But she knew she would have to check on Aiden, soon. She doubted Connor could fully handle a raging skooma addict. And who knows the damage her son would cause to the Restoration Chapter, cursing, screaming, breaking things and...and...just...not being her son.

And her poor mages. They can't even practice of help people because she stashed her addict son in the same building. Sithis only knew what they thought of her.

But all this only pointed to something she dreaded. Killing Runa. Killing her own daughter. Their daughter. She didn't want to. But...it needed to be done, to protect her boys. But then there was Mathieu...

She had a lot to tell him. A lot. And she was sure he would hate her and want nothing to do with her once she was done talking. She could tell him about her twins, and her husband, but, Runa? Runa being a Listener?

No. No. Shealyne thought that would be too much. Too much. Maybe she could tell him they did, indeed, have a daughter, but leave it at that. That would make things easier.

But it was nice, having Mathieu by her side, despite it not being perfect. She forgot all the things that were bad going on when he was with her. He certainly was a good distraction.

The Sauveterre, however, was so lost within her inner thoughts that she failed to realize her Brother exited the alchemy shop.

"Hello, Shealyne." Mathieu spoke after a minute waiting for her notice. "Were you, waiting for me? You didn't have to do that." He adopted a more pleasant tone now, but he wondered what kept her so lost in thought.

Upon hearing her companion, the woman blinked, red iris snapping to Mathieu, as if just seeing him, "Oh, yyes. I had no desire to traverse."

Mathieu nodded. He pulled out a thin red phial from his bag and handed it to her. "I want you to drink this. It is for the poison. Can't be sure how much of it, is still in you."

Oh. Opps. Shealyne forgot to say hello. That was rude of her. Oh, well.

The woman grunted softly, taking the phial as she worked on popping off the cork, "Yyou and your ppoison..." The Breton murmured, though drank the contents of the phial.

"From my knowledge, you haven't been drinking heavily since this morn. You haven't been drinking at all. So why else would your speech be so slow?" Mathieu smirked.

"Define, 'drinking', Dearest Brother." The red head spoke, and proceeded to lightly poke the man's chest with a feminine finger, "But enough of me. What can I do for you, Mr. I-Can-Go-Days-Without-Sleeping Bellamont?" The Sauveterre's tone was an odd mix between a purr and a jesting tone.

Ech. Mathieu inwardly cringed at the title. Brother... They may have called each other siblings when they still, by all rights, were Dark Siblings, maybe even after their treachery, but now it sounded wrong, suddenly... But he didn't let it get in the way. Not this time.

"I mean alcohol, of course." Bellamont's smirked widened, "But oh, I know what you could do for me..."

Well shit. That sounded suggestive. Definitely suggestive. Damn it - Mathieu passed Shealyne and gestured toward one of the food stands - "If you want to get some food for my supplies? I'm low."

"Furf! You and I can share bottles, perhaps. Alcohol, of course." Shealyne spoke, eye focusing on the food stands, "Of course. What do you need?"

The potential sexual suggestion flew right over Shealyne's head.

"Anything that will, fit, really. Bread. Cheese. Meat. It doesn't much matter."

Shealyne nodded, "As you wish. I shall be back." The woman spoke, walking off to the food carts. Though she briefly glanced at the jewelry carts. Oh. Shiny!

Mathieu lingered by the alchemy shop as he watched Shealyne get him the provisions. Ah, did he miss this. He mulled over what she said earlier, about the dragons, and specifically the people she noted. This Nol character, for one. But there was one more, a... Daughter-in-law? Wait. Shealyne has a child? Why did it just dawn on him?... Well, likely because he was more overcome with his temper at that time.

The Sauveterre did not take long, and came back with two of everything. Ah! She was acting like a mother making sure her kid got enough food! Oh, well. She had a satchel, too, "There. Now you will not be low for a while."

"Oh!" Exclaimed Mathieu. He didn't expect this much food. Still, he took it gratefully and stuffed as much as he could in his bag. Shealyne would just have to carry the rest. Ha! When he was done with this he leaned against one of the wooden pillars of the building. "I was, thinking about what you said earlier," He said, "And how you spoke of a daughter-in-law. So... You have a child now?"

Shealyne stuffed the food in her satchel. At least nothing would crush it in there. Mathieu's comment caught her off guard a bit, for she was confused. Then it dawned on her. Oh! She mentioned her slut of a daughter in law!

The woman nodded, "Yes. Three."

...Fuck!

Mathieu tilted his head. "Ah." He smiled. "Well, then... I'm, glad. If it isn't, personal, then, may I ask who fathered them?"

He didn't know if he should be jealous of the man who was able to take her after him... Start a FAMILY with her... And he certainly felt the sting, however dull. Perhaps it was too sudden to really take in. Or that he wasn't surprised at all...

Wait... How in Oblivion can vampires even bear children?... Huh.

...oh, dear. Now Shealyne was at a crossroads. It would be cruel not to tell him.

She should tell him. It was right. But not here, in public.

Fuck her like a duck. She didn't want him to know this soon...

"May we go somewhere private?" The woman questioned, tone soft as her already thin lips pressed together into a thin line.

"...Alright."

Mathieu led Shealyne behind the merchant houses, to a near desolate backstreet. There was one or two smaller houses along this road, as well as the backside of what he knew was a vacant home called Breezehome, but nobody really passed through here unless it was the homeowners returning to the houses near nightfall. The two went near the back of Breezehome.

"...Shealyne, if you don't wish to tell me, I have no qualms about it. If it's too personal to share... If you just, want to keep the father's name a secret from me, for whatever reason. It's probably too soon to ask you anyway."

The woman frowned, though exhaled slightly, "No. It does not matter. I would have told you anyway. Just...not so soon."

"When I was a lowly murderer for the Dark Brotherhood, I was infatuated with the prospect of living a normal life. Away from murder. Away from the illness that was vampirism. I idolized and romanticized that way of life. I fell in love with a simple man, Guilbert Jemane. As much as I loved him, and how much I knew I was being a terrible Dark Sister and endangering not only the Dark Brotherhood-but him-I could not stop seeing him. It hurt too much. So...I tried to balance the fantasy life I had created around him, and the life as a member of the Brotherhood. A double life, I guess some would say." The woman paused slightly, as if in thought.

"That fantasy ended when my twin sons were born. Lucien had me make a choice: cut ties with my newborn sons and husband and remain with the Dark Brotherhood, or, have my family-and possibly myself-slain. I had no choice. Ever since then, I swore I would do anything to be with my family again, and free from the jagged chains of the Dark Brotherhood." Shealyne paused to clear her throat.

"And then, I met you. I never expected to get so close to you-both in friendship and romance. But I understood your plight. I understood what you wanted, because it was very similar to what I wanted, too. But I knew I could use you, and manipulate you, so that I could be free at last. You were obsolete. But, at the same time, you were not. I tried so hard to convince myself I never loved you. I did. I came up with every excuse, no matter how trivial. And I was ashamed, because no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I could never love you-just love my husband-I knew it was not true." Shealyne frowned, voice wavering and lower lip trembling.

"I did. And I was ashamed I loved you. Because it ruined my fantasy. And I am sorry. I am so sorry, Mathieu. I treated you like filth whether you knew it or not, and I risked everything for a man that only gave me his hate instead of his love!"

By now, the Breton was crying. It wasn't fair. And she was an idealistic fool, "I am sorry. I have done you wrong. I was never thinking about you-I was thinking about my husband and sons. I was so blinded by the desire for a normal life that I could not see you. I...I do not blame you if your opinion has changed of me. It is okay if you do not like me. It is okay if you do not want to give me your time anymore. I...I am sorry for not loving you when I should have. I am sorry you died. I am sorry I did not marry you. I am sorry you never got to see your daughter..."

The last sentence was soft. Though Shealyne was busy wiping her eye of tears, she backed away from Mathieu on shaken legs. Her unsteadiness-and her grief-caused her to stumble and lean upon the siding of a house, her breath of one in distress and shoulders heaving.

It wasn't fair. She wasn't fair to him. Mathieu didn't deserve the treatment she gave him-even if it was a long time ago. To him, it was probably like yesterday. Maybe. She wouldn't blame him if he wanted nothing to do with her. But the thing that hurt the most was that he was never able to see Runa grow.

Anger, heartbreak, betrayal, sorrow... A great tangle of emotions seemed to knot his stomach, tie his tongue, strangle the very air out of his lungs. Many impulses screamed at him to move, but he was fixed to the spot. Just like when they met again - but this time it was stronger. He wasn't sure how to feel with her now. One thought was to tear away, fleeing the scene with Shealyne left weeping; another thought was of a more violent reaction, reminding himself of Maria's end... But he did not touch her, run from her. He pressed his back to the house. Lowered himself to the ground, head in his hands.

When he gained the gall the only thing he spoke was "My... My, daughter..." He repeated it a few times. Under his breath, barely audible. "... My... Our daughter. Our CHILD." His voice cracked, then, followed by a soft sob.

Shealyne knew this was a bad idea. Look at how upset he was! But the woman strumbled upon shaken and uneven legs towards the man. Upon getting close enough, Shealyne tightly wrapped her arms around him in a hug-or tried to in her distressed state. Her weight ended up leaning more on Mathieu because of her legs.

She wasn't sure what to do to comfort him, other than hug him. She tried to rub her hand upon him to sooth, and she tried to kiss his hair-his brow-his cheek-anything save for his lips to try and bring him comfort. Though at that state, it may as well have seemed like an insult.

Shealyne's own body was heaving and sputtering from crying, and try as she might to form words and try to comfort him, she couldn't. Rather, a tiny, weak, and barely audible response came from the Breton, "...S-s-she...she m-m-m-mmmmissed you...she n...nev-never knew you...but she mmissed you..."

And Shealyne felt that was her fault.

Mathieu mindlessly pulled Shealyne closer and locked her in an embrace of his own. Despite it all, he still found solace in holding her; just the reassurance of having another person with him... He remembered Mother. How he used to hug her whenever he felt bad, spending what seemed like hours wrapped in her arms, falling asleep sometimes to the soothing sound of her voice...

But he didn't have her comfort with him. Mother was mad at him, he assumed. Despondent.

Shealyne, while being comforted by the man returning her hug, did not faulter the tightness of her own embrace. She pressed herself further against Mathieu, and while her crying had calmed, her body still shook and hitched in breath in grief. While the actions irritated her arrow wound, that pain seemed almost dulled compared to the emotional one. Her heart hurt. Odd, considering it didn't beat.

The man couldn't have possibly imagined it like this, his reunion with Shealyne. They'd already been in... Less favorable situations already; yet after that he just figured they could talk, confide, even hopefully rekindle their relationship with time. It hadn't been a day. Half a day, even. And he was mad now. Ohhh, he certainly was mad at her. She betrayed him! Betrayed his trust, his love, USING his own plans to get back to her SECRET lover!

Eventually he calmed - or at least he feigned it well. Mathieu propped his chin on Shealyne's head, staring out at the street blankly, waiting for her to quiet and stop shaking. She was still a piece of him. His past. Now he knew she was the mother of his child, and that thought seemed to make it better.

Shealyne eventually quieted, and calmed. Only an occassional sniff coming from her as she buried her head deeper into the man's form. She wished it went so different than this. It would have been easier to never tell him, but it wouldn't have been fair. Not at all. She could have lied. She could have. But he didn't deserve a lie. No, she had to try and be good, be right, do the right thing.

But in doing the right thing, the Sauveterre was sure she had ruined their chances of becoming what they once were-perhaps even more. Sorry just wasn't enough. Her hopes had now become her dreams.

Mathieu didn't glance at Shealyne. "...What is, her name?" He said. His tone was unreadable, but the question was innocent enough. "What did you name our, my, daughter?"

He wanted to know more. How his newfound was, what she was doing now. Though he assumed her already dead, as he didn't quite grasp the concept of how a human-vampire halfbreed would possibly develop.

And now Shealyne felt dread, and whole new sense of fear. If she mentioned Runa was alive, he would be hopeful. And then instantly crushed that his child was the Listener. Why were her life choices so morally heart wrenching with no easy answer? Everytime she thought she was doing right, the consequences seemed to say otherwise.

"...Runa. Her name is Runa. I am sorry if you do not like it." The Sauveterre murmured softly after a pause. She once heard the name Runa meant secret. Or lovely secret. Or little secret. Something like that. Shealyne wasn't sure if that was true, but she figured the meaning of the name-fake or no-fit. So, Runa it was.

"Runa..." It was as if he tested the word on his tongue. "That's a... Nice name."

"I hope that is genuine. I am not good with names." Shealyne spoke, "She...she was a lot like you. The good part of you. The nice part."

"Really? Hm. Define those, qualities." In a way, her answer could assure Mathieu that she did really care enough to have known him, however small that may be. Though at times he felt he himself could not be recognized any differently from that wretched, impulsive part of him - the Dark Brotherhood's grasp on him.

Shealyne's lips briefly pressed together into a thin line as she thought of where to start, "Well...she was...very patient. Very...open minded. Accepting. But she was easily hurt, and sensitive. Gentle. Artistic. You...you can be all of those things, too. When you are not too angry. You accepted me despite what I did, and despite what I am, when my husband did not."

The woman paused to think, smiling sullenly, "You are a good man, Mathieu. Deep down. Even a good man can sometimes do bad things. You have a good heart, despite everything. You just are hurt. Wounded."

But of course it didn't excuse some of his actions. Still, she didn't see him as a bad-bad man. But he wasn't good-good, either. He was just somewhere in between.

He didn't know if he could fully believe Shealyne at this point but accepted her words anyway. "And you truly think that? You cared enough, loved enough, "saw" enough of me to glean that?" Mathieu pulled away from her enough to look the vampire in the eye.

Shealyne frowned, "Yes. I know you are mad. You should be. But I saw you being both good and bad. And sometimes the bad scared me. Because I did not know if you would hurt me, or get man enough to. But then I saw why you could be both good, and bad. You wanted to be good, and do good, but you had to let a part of yourself be bad to do it. Like me, a bit. But then I saw why you did those things. And you were hurt, like me, a bit. You wanted a good life, but it was ruined and blinded by rage. I wanted a fantasy life I could never have."

The woman's frown deepened, "I tricked myself into believing I could have that life. You tricked yourself into believing that anger and rage was the only thing you you could do. That you could not go back to a normal life, a good life. But you could have, Mathieu...you could have. If you just let the hate go...you could have been happier."

Bah, what was she saying? What was she getting at? She was trying to make a point, but ended up blubbering away instead. Though she didn't blame him for simply not believing her. It was a painful gut punch, one that she felt with her husband's rejection. Then she was left wondering if he ever loved her at all-or worse, regretted their children because she was bad.

"What exactly do you imply?!"

In one swift motion Mathieu had forced Shealyne down on the ground, pinning her under his weight; there was derangement in his eyes as they bore straight into her. "That my efforts were pointless?! That the path I follow could have turned so easily?! That I'd be content with letting my mother be slaughtered before me with no hope of justice for her?! If so, then what am I now besides a fool trying to live his old lies?! Destined not to ever live in content and peace..." Then he frowned. His brows knitted together, he sighed, collapsed onto Shealyne, hid his face in the crook of her neck.

"... I, do wish you'd have told me sooner. About this, life, you wanted to live. Your family. What you'd do to achieve it... You're right. At night I'd constantly think of a simple life, imagine myself as one of the mundane citizens in this very city. But with the Brotherhood... Those thoughts were tarnished. Whether it's that they still hunt me, or that, I've known only their ways for the longest time..."

He inclined his head and looked at Shealyne. "I suppose we're more similar than we realized. We acted out for our own family. All we wished for is a true family... But their false family prevents that."

To say Shealyne was scared when she was pinned by Mathieu was an understatement. She was terrified, both at his sudden rage and the madness in his eyes.

But as soon as the storm arrived, it ended, and she calmed upon the man simply collapsed upon her. She frowned as her arms slowly wrapped around him in hug-since she could not truly move well due to his greater weight, "I was scared. Scared of what you would think. Scared of you getting mad."

"It is hard. Trying to be normal. I cannot do it. They may accept, but they cannot understand. Sometimes I feel like that is all I am: a murderer." The woman exhaled. She was tired.

Mathieu imagined him and Shealyne back then. "I... Yes, I probably would. Back then, and how close we-I, felt..." And he would've felt the cut deeper, had time and distance not dulled the blade. "It does not matter now, I suppose... Ah, but it is still good to have somebody who understands. Somebody you don't have to act with, as I have had to these past few months." The breton shifted. Now his face was an inch apart from Shealyne's. "I'm certain you know how much it pains, to pass through years so seamlessly and have everything changed. Nothing familiar. None to talk to about the past you once lived in."

Oh, dear. His face was so very close to hers. Was he doing that on purpose? Shealyne's eye stared into his own, before briefly drifting to his lips. Her own slightly parted, as if to speak, though she ended up gliding her tongue over her lips, as if in a sudden nervousness, as they briefly glistened due to the coated saliva.

And then she felt an odd tingling upon her lips, as if a desire to caress her own against his. Well, it was a sudden desire, and she knew that well. Damn her girlish behavior! She needed to resist and be a mature adult! If vampirism did not prevent her from blushing, her face would be flushed a reddish hue. Ugh! Two hundred years old and acting like a foolish girl!

The Breton made her lips form into a soft smile, a fang poking out and jutting into her bottom lip. It was an attempt to try and quell the tingling. It did. Kind of. If only because her lower lip began to gently trickle blood, "I...have to remind myself that you and I now are not exactly the same as we were in the past. It is hard. Not thinking of you as a lover."

"But I know how it feels. The world changes, but you remain the same, untouched by time. An enigma of an era long passed forced into a foriegn one. A new one. And no one remembers. It is sad." Shealyne exhaled, though resumed to smile, "Though it is okay, yes? You do not have to be lonely anymore, if you still desire my companionship."

"At least you have had the living world to keep you distracted. In... In the, Void... There's nothing. Nothing but, your memories."

Mathieu could feel Shealyne's warm breath on his lips, causing some temptation to stir within him. He leaned in, just slightly, and parted his lips - but jerked away quickly. Then Mathieu pulled himself up off of Shealyne. Even after what's been spoken, he still couldn't break from simple, lustful desires? How nettling. It was funny, though; at least they had gotten to conversing. When he stood the man offered a hand to help Shealyne pull herself up.

"I'd... Still... Like your company, yes..."


	2. Meeting the lil' bastards

The woman released a deep exhale she didn't realize she was holding. Sithis...she was glad what little of her mature adulthood was just saved. She thought she was above such simple desires. But that was easy when she lived alone...

Shealyne grasped Mathieu's hand, and pulled herself to her feet. She hesitated slightly to let go, but she did. Her hands then went to brush the dirt off of her back to the best she could, "Thank you. I, uh, if you want, we can talk more at the Restoration Chapter. It is a big building in Whiterun's farmlands. But it is more quiet than the tavern, because, Nords do not like magic. You can rest there, too, if you want. I do not go there as much as I should."

Ugh. She needed a drink..., "But I am sorry. I hope the memories were not too torturous."

Mathieu shrugged off her comment without a word. Instead, he stepped behind Shealyne, "I assume you know the way there? I, don't believe I've heard much of the Restoration Chapter. Never visited it."

"I am not surprized. If you want, I can teach you some magic. Or try to." The Sauveterre spoke, moving out of Whiterun. She wasn't sure how good of a teacher she was.

"That'd be... Fine. I used to dabble with it, in my spare time. Not so much anymore." Mathieu said. Magic tended to be much more draining on him nowadays. He couldn't explain why that was. Lack of training, maybe? But even with basic spells he seemed to strain.

"I could not do anything, at first. The only thing I could do was whine and complain. You can be good at most things, if you give it enough time, or will power." The woman spoke.

"... Naturally." Was all Mathieu would say, apparently losing himself in thought and silence as they ambled along. Conflicting feelings. Awhile passed before he inquired, "What is this Restoration Chapter like, anyway? A school, like those in Cyrodiil?"

"Uh, yes. But the Mage's Guild disbanded shortly after the Oblivion Crisis. People do not like magic. But, uh, on topic: this school is for training Restoration. And that is it." Shealyne spoke, smiling slightly at the man, "Simple, no?"

As the pair moved, the three story building was in sight, "Ah, and, Mathieu? Please do not be angry at my sons. They are here. I would rather have you be angry at me than them. I will be busy for a little while, but once you get inside, there will be a big study. A library. There is stairs nearby. Go to the second floor. There are four private rooms...actually, never you mind. I will be going there anyway. Just ignore any yelling you hear. Or smashing."

Mathieu flashed her a questioning look. Still, he shrugged his shoulders and nodded. Ah. Her twin sons, then. The ones he had with that Guilbert Jemane... Tch. But they were here - alive? So vampires must've passed their immortality to their offspring, or at the least a longer life-span. Wait - did that mean -

Mathieu smiled. Did that mean his daughter could be alive as well? Although, by the way Shealyne spoke of her, Runa could just as well have been killed off... And that killed off his smile.

Shealyne was oblivious to Mathieu's facial expressions-much less his concern. She opened the door to the building, the main room looking more like a library than anything where people could read or study. Other than its large amounts of books and various furnishing, it had a fireplace. Which was the woman's favorite.

She did not bother explaining as she took the stairs to the second floor, and thus, the more private quarters as juxtiposed with the communal ones. Shealyne merely opened a door, "You can stay here. It has a tub, too. There is a pully-lever thing outside the window to fill the tub with a bucket. Irrigation system uses water from the river. Ohh, did you ever have a hot bath? They are nice. I can heat the water for you with magic, if you want."

Shealyne sure was excited about warm water. And in her mind, warm bath water was the best thing in the world.

"Erm... I suppose you could?" Mathieu said, heading over to lever she was talking about. Then he snickered. "Pully-lever thing... Pft!"

"Ah! Good!" Shealyne squealed ever so slightly. Yay warm baths! The woman, however, noted Mathieu's reaction, "Something wrong with the pully-lever thing?" Maybe he knew its real name?

Mathieu shook his head, smirking. "No. It's just... "Pully-lever thing?" Hah! How endearing." Soon the man was done filling the tub.

"Endearing? Furf!" The woman snorted, though was content to wait. Once ready, the woman simply walked up to the tub, rolled up her sleeve, and plopped her arm elbow deep into the water.

"You smirk quite a lot. More than you actually smile, I think." The Sauveterre spoke, a basic fire spell erupting from her hand as it began to heat the water. She bet the Nords would be less miserable if they all had warm baths. They certainly would smell better...

"Oh? I didn't think that mattered." Mathieu began removing his things; the war axe, dagger, crossbow and its pouch of bolts, and his satchel were all discarded on the floor. Then he worked on the straps to his Dawnguard boots and gloves.

"It does not. Though there was an Argonian that always smirked. Smirked. And chuckled. He was vexing. I wanted to punch his teeth in every damn time." The Sauveterre spoke, flame still spewing from her hand. It was sad. Sometimes people just irritated her for no reason.

The woman then noticed the odd weapon that was the crossbow. It looked hard to handle, "What is that weapon? If that the one you slew the dragon with?"

"That? It's a, crossbow. I didn't bear it when I killed the dragon - I only received it about, a month ago, I believe... They are only made by... Select smiths." The Dawnguard, that is. But of course he wouldn't say that. "Have you been to Dwarven Ruins? This weapon is like one of the mechanisms you'd find there. If only smaller."

"Oh. So it is a fancy bow." The woman nodded. Or...a least she assumed it was. It had 'bow' in its name. And it seemed to shoot strange arrows.

"Though, no. Just a lot of bars, ruins with Daedra, and ruins with undead. Even towns with undead and Daedra. Sometimes both. And cursed houses." Shealyne spoke. Traveling with Nol was very, very odd..., "How is a crossbow different than a bow?"

She figured it was just more queer looking and fancy.

Mathieu went to grab the crossbow. "With a crossbow, a bolt can already be set in before you aim the first shot. You don't have to hold it yourself. It can be much, deadlier, than a regular bow with its speed, but it takes longer to reload it... Heh. It's best for an initial shot... And depending on, that may be the fatal shot." The man held out the bow for Shealyne to see, pointing to certain parts as he talked. There was some sense of pleasure in explaining how it worked; by all means he wasn't an expert with it, but Durak taught him well enough.

Shealyne listened, nodding, "So...it is easier to use and requires less skill than a normal bow? But it is a lot more lethal. Strange, but good." Huh. It was an odd contraption...

The water began to steadily bubble and boil.

"Yes. I assume to make this, you must follow old dwarven plans, at least somewhat. Hence why so few construct them."

Mathieu noticed the water was boiling now. "... Thanks... You can go busy yourself where you're needed, now." He fiddled a little with his belt, though not undoing it.

"Hmm? Ah, yes." Shealyne nodded, taking her hand out of the water. She then produced two bottles of ale from her satchel, "You can keep them. I will probably bathe and drink a bit after I tend to my sons. I will need it. Enjoy your bath."

Mathieu accepted the two bottles of ale, but didn't bother to pop them open at this moment. "Thank you." He said simply. He started unfastening his robes, but waited to pull them off until Shealyne left the room.

The woman then took her leave, and closed the door behind her. Ugh...now onto her brats.

... Huh. Finally taking a warm bath did feel pretty nice. Comfortable. Usually Mathieu would simply take a dunk in bitterly cold water, whether at a pond somewhere or the small lake at Dayspring Canyon, and it doubled as a shock to his senses that would instantly rouse him from his tired state... The breton yawned. He closed his eyes, sinking further into the tub, lazily ruminating.

While not next to the man's quarters, there was audio of an arguement from several rooms over. While a bit muffled, it was certainly audible.

Mathieu pricked up his ears at what sounded to be an argument coming from rooms away, muffled but otherwise apparent. Huh. Maybe that was Shealyne and one of her sons... One of those little bastards that she kept hidden from him. Mathieu scoffed. The man surprised himself by how he was able to handle it initially, without lashing out. Perhaps he was too numbed from the shock of finding out about Runa. Or it was the sheer desperation of having someone to relate to. Hmph. But now he had private time to let it set in. Fester.

Maybe he would follow what he told his fellow hunter. Use her for information, his plans. Eye-for-an-eye, he guessed.

The arguing seemed to only get louder, and louder. And perhaps there was the vague sound of crying or sobbing. And then more yelling. And then the sound of a vase smashing against the wall. And a wooden chair or table being thrown and broken. When the sounds of a scuffle, along with more cursing and ranting and screaming. Then the sound of someone hitting the ground.

Then there was the sound of silence for quite a long time, minus the occassional muffled crying.

Then the slasm of a door, followed by brisk, swift and angry footfalls. Then the opening and closing of another door.

Shealyne was fucking livid. Livid, and upset. It felt like her chest slammed into a brick wall, and it felt like angry fuzziness in her chest. She was going to do exactly what she said she would do when speaking to Mathieu: bathe and drink. Not in that exact order. But she wanted to try and destress herself before she broke something.

But that would almost be impossible. Because breaking things felt damn good.

Mathieu grew increasingly worried as the sounds of conflict grew louder and louder. A part of him wanted to bolt up and rush over to Shealyne's defense - which he could hear her voice clearly - and confront whoever it was she was screaming at, her own son or no. It was like an instinct in him to do whenever she was near. But another part wished of him to simply stay here, let her deal with it. After all, if it was her son, it also wasn't HIS son.

Shealyne almost felt ill she was so angry. She was pretty sure this was the worst she ever got. And no matter how hard she wanted to punch the wall, or kick a table, or break something, she couldn't bring herself to do that. She was far too worried about disturbing Mathieu. She knew the man needed to rest. He probably did not sleel for a long time. And mortals needed their sleep. And she also felt guilty. She still wanted to talk to him, but she did not want the talking to be about her pathedic problems and feelings. She felt bad that the only things she learned of him was that he had a fancy special bow called a crossbow, slew a dragon and made its flesh melt off, had a lot of friends in Whiterun, and was only back for a few months.

She was eager to learn more of him. What did he mean when he mentioned Dragonborn? What was he doing? What did he do? What adventures did he go on? Did he have any companions? How was he adjusting to a normal society? Was breaking his old habits hard? Or easy? Did he get urges to kill, to torture?

Just...things. Things that didn't involve him getting mad at her or making her feel bad for upsetting him or being a shitty mother and failing parenthood.

No. She didn't want to think about that. The only good thing was that her anger was replaced by sadness. And she didn't want to break things anymore.

Except the empty ale bottle she just threw against the wall in a sudden fit, the glass shattering against the wall.

"Oh, shit...sorry!" The woman called, not even sure if the man could hear. Well...that felt good, at least.

Mathieu was nearly nodding off to sleep when he heard the sound of glass shattering, and his eyes flew open as he tensed up, only to remember where he was and who he was surrounded by. Well shit. He guessed he was too used too sleeping in the wilderness most days, if at all, and sleeping very lightly at that. Still, what was that noise, who made it - was somebody breaking in? -

No. It was Shealyne. He noticed her call out "-sorry!" faintly. "Are you alright?!" He called back, though not willing to get out just yet. He liked warm baths now.

Ops. Fuck. She disturbed him! Damn her impulsive bitch behavior!

"Uh...yes! Go back to...doing what ever you were doing!" The Breton called. Ugh. Fuck. Okay. Fine. Okay.

... ...now, she could work on that bath!

And could let Mathieu be!

Yay!

Mathieu sighed, going back to his thoughts, sinking himself back into serenity.

The Sauveterre enjoyed warm baths for a reason. They relaxed her. Unfortunately, they also made her sleepy. Though it was not due from physical fatigue more so from mental and emotional stain. For better or worse, the Breton ended up knodding off, snoring softly and drooling upon herself.

Mathieu stayed in the bath for a couple minutes more before getting out. Donning his clothing and re-equipping himself before exiting the room to meander around the building.

As the man wandered around, two men were sitting at a table. It was quite obvious they were twins, and judging by their physical build, they were more so warriors than mages. Though both wore simple clothing. Well, not the one with slicked back hair. Connor sported Daedric Guantlets. And he was attempting to use said guantlets to cram frost salts into his brother's very black, and very blue, eye socket.

Aiden was currently grumbling with shakey hands, attempting to keep the offending hands at bay. Other than Aiden's black eye, one of the only things of note was three claw marks upon his jaw from getting bitch slapped by the lich.

The blondes were currently bickering at each other, and each were annoyed.

Upon the table, between the men, was a little white blob. Those this little white blob appeared to be a dragon hatchling. Or a lizard hatchling, for it was wingless. The creature was tiny enough to fit in the palm of one's hand. It's head was clearly draconic, though it lacked any sort of horns. Aside from its head, its pudgey belly was the largest part of it, and its long forelimbs and hindlimbs seemed little more than sticks, its tail lightly curled around itself.

Due to its rolly polly form, the chick could do little but sit, and roll around helplessly. As such, the tiny red eyed lizard was currently chirping its head off, hungry and wanting food, as if a young bird calling to its parents.

The twins, however, were currently attempting to ignore the hatchling, and instead were bickering with each other.

Mathieu just so happened upon the two men sitting at a table while he was sauntering along. There was also some weird ass white blob on the table. It moved, too. But Mathieu's attention was more focused on the men, twins, bickering with each other and paying him no heed. These were Shealyne's sons, then? The breton fought back bitterly remarking this, instead making his attention known by approaching them and saying in a pleasant, if subdued, tone, "Greetings. Looks as if, someone, had their way with you. Need any assistance?"

The men paused in their bickering to look at Mathieu. Aiden merely grumbled under his breath.

Connor, however, smiled, and laughed, "Yeah! Mama laid him on his ass right quick. Serves him right, too."

Aiden merely snorted, "Does not. Mother is a bitch."

"You hit her first. And she hit you back. Sounds like a fair deal." Connor shrugged his shoulders.

"Shut up." Aiden hissed, the soldier moving to actually look at Mathieu, "No. We do not need your help."

"Don't mind him, yeah? He's just on that time of the month." Connor spoke to Mathieu, laughing at his own comment.

Aiden clearly did not like that, "Go suck a whore's tit, Connor."

The warrior frowned, "Heeeey. That's mean to talk about Mama..."

Such a lovely pair.

Mathieu had to bite his lip to keep himself from spitting out a response to the two. To the fact that he HIT her. And to that last comment. But he had... Conflicting feelings about it. Just a little bit. "Whore" was always the first insult he had in his mind when he thought of women he didn't like. Or had done him wrong. Mathieu let out a weak laugh, sitting down at the table with them. "Oh. Hah. Guessing you're Shealyne's sons?"

"Yep!" Connor chirped, smiling. His large canines were visible, something his brother lacked. If only due to filing down the fangs.

"Hmmmm. Unfortunately." Aiden murmured.

The warrior decided to ignore his brother's surly demeaner, "You one of Mama's friends?"

"What friends?" The soldier snapped, "She has no friends."

Connor frowned, "Shut up, Aiden."

"Ah yes, I am her, friend. An old friend. My name's... Mathieu. She's never spoken your names to me, though." Mathieu said. He eyed the little blob on the table as they had talked. It looked like... A lizard. A fat lizard.

"And she never mentioned you." Aiden commented. His hands were shaking as they rested upon the table. So to prevent that, he balled them into fists. It didn't help. Damn!

"I'm Connor. And Mister Moody Butt is Aiden. And that's Cunt-Face." The warrior grinned, pointing to the still chirping lizard chick. Only it was now begging food from Mathieu, mouth agape. The chick attempted to get up with its hind legs, but only ended up rolling haplessly upon the table, arms flailing to try and right itself.

"That is not 'Cunt-Face', you dolt. That is Jynx." Aiden grumbled.

Connor shook his head, "She ain't your dumb dog. She's Cunt-Face. 'Cause she's ugly."

Aiden looked like he was about to say something insulting, though managed to stop himself, "He. Jynx is a he..."

The warrior shook his head, as if to shoo away the idea, "Nu-uh. She has no balls. I see no balls."

"Because the balls-are fuckin-ahh!" Whatever reserve of willpower Aiden was using to not sock his brother, it seemed to be gone. Rather, the man folded his arms, and rested his brow upon them. Ow...his eye...he wanted skooma. He didn't want to deal with his idiot brother...

Connor took Aiden's withdrawl as a victory, turning to Mathieu, "So, you know Mama, yeah? How?"

Well, obviously she hadn't told her sons of Mathieu yet. He figured that. He wondered if she must have omitted her life with the Dark Brotherhood from them, as well. "Me and her met in Cyrodiil, years back. In Cheydinhal, if I remember correctly. Nothing... Too exciting, happened - we merely met each other and traveled together for some time."

Connor nodded, "What did you do?"

While Aiden didn't bother to look up from his castle-arms, he felt the need to comment something, if only to further insult his mother. He was still right sore about his black eye, "They were probably participating in the horizonal club..."

The warrior blinked, confused by his brother's meaning, "Huh?"

A low groan could be heard from Aiden's folded arms, "...Sex..."

That seemed to fairly upset Connor, "Noooo...shut the fuck up!"

"It is true. Probably. Everyone who travels together eventually does..." The soldier shrugged his shoulders from his slumped position.

Connor shook his head, as if refusing to listen, "Noooo...nu-uh! Stoooop!"

"Yeeees. Look at like...anyone whose ever traveled together...like, ever..." Aiden murmured.

"Noooo..." Connor murmured softly, before jamming his fingers in his ears, "I'm not listening. Fuck off with your lies and horseshit!"

"Okay..." Aiden propped his head up, "Name one damn pair who never had intercourse despite traveling together. And family does not count..."

Connor, however, either ignored Aiden's challenge, or simply could not hear him due to jamming his own fingers in his ears.

Aiden merely snorted.

Mathieu almost grinned. Almost laughed. Ohhh, they didn't even know...

"No... No, that never happened. We just, explored, I suppose. Delved into caves, ruins - abandoned areas." He lied.

While it was questionable if Connor heard Aiden, he most certainly heard Mathieu, and pulled his fingers out of his ears, "Ha! In your fucking face!"

Aiden only grumbled in response, "What a surprise."

Mathieu shifted his gaze to the pudgy lizard waddling around on the table. "... What is that thing? Some type of, lizard?" Curiosity was killing him.

"A dragon! Lizard! Thing!" Connor replied, "No one really knows."

"A dragon. Kind of. I think? But not the big bastards. There was a pack of these lizard things. They were nasty. Kind of like...vampire lizards, I guess. They seemed to feed on blood. But when they died, they kind of shriveled up into a mini...uh, dro-ger? Versions? The Nord version of zombies." Aiden tried to clarify.

"I kept one as a trophy. It was gross, but neat. Then I cut my finger on it! And my trophy kind of...turned into...this little...ugly thing. Cunt-Face." Connor frowned. He would rather have a trophy to show off his feats. Not a...little noisy pudge ball baby lizard thing. That couldn't do anything. Or look like the scary beasts he described.

"Jynx. He is a baby now. I think. It was either keep him, or crush him with a boot." Aiden murmured, "Ruccia likes him."

"Her." Connor chided.

"Him. Even Ruccia agrees..." The soldier grumbled, "So...he is my pet. Or may as well be. Connor left him to freeze to death."

"Huh..." Mathieu was hesitant, but he reached a single finger towards Jynx, Cunt-Face - whatever it was - and tried petting its head. "... Never seen anything like it. Where exactly did you find it? And those, other lizards?"

Jynx allowed the Breton to pet his head. Though upon sensing prey, mindlessly snapped at the Breton's finger. Not that it would cause much damage, for the chick was far from strong. It just wanted food. Which was blood.

"Uhh...a big ass castle? Something with a...V? Or an H?" Connor was unsure.

"Ow! -" Mathieu jerked his hand away from Jynx a little, though it's nip was far from harmful. It was more like a small pricking from a nail.

"Oh-bad, Cunt-Face! Bad!" Connor scolded the chick, "Sorry. She's hungry."

"Than feed him." Aiden remarked. Fuck.

"What? She ain't starving. Look at how fat she is!" The warrior exclaimed.

The soldier grunted, "It is baby fat. Lizard baby fat. Fuckin' feed her-fuck!-him, Connor!"

"No. Not until you apologize to Mama." The man responded.

"No." Was Aiden's simple reply.

"... What were you two fighting about?" Mathieu asked Aiden. "I could hear some of your little, conflict from the other room. Banging. Smashing... Sobbing." The breton leered at him when he spoke the last word.

Aiden, at that, raised his head, and narrowed his eyes at Mathieu, "None of your business."

"You can ask her, probably. I'm sworn to twin secrecy not to tell..." Connor replied with a slight frown, "At least not in my brother's company."

"Fine. Of course." Mathieu couldn't care to stay with these two any longer than he has. But neither did he care to bother Shealyne and learn even more family secrets today. So, instead, he occupied himself with the baby lizard; petting it, careful not to let it bite him, knocking it over gently and watching as it struggled to get up with it's little legs. Ah, creatures. So simple they were. Sure pets could whine and pester, but at least they didn't speak, unlike people.

Jynx would indeed have trouble getting up when knocked over. His pudgy build was simply not one that allowed graceful movement. Despite this, he would resume to chirp at the pestering man.

Mathieu smirked at the lizard as he chirped up at him, but after some time squirming the man grabbed Jynx and gently brought him back to standing. "What does he eat?" Questioned Mathieu, nonchalantly. He hadn't even paid much mind to if the twins were quarreling with each other again or if they were watching him bully around their pet.

Aiden appeared to not care about his pet being a bully victim. Connor, however, was watching slightly. Poor Cunt-Face, "She eats blood. I think? Yeah. Blood." The warrior nodded.

... Well, if no one else was going to feed it... Mathieu pulled out his war axe, running it's edge along his palm. Blood trickled down his hand, his wrist, and he held it out to Jynx. If it tried tearing apart his hand? Oh well - he'd just tip it over again.

Jynx, upon sensing blood, chirped excitedly. Though rather than biting, he simply licked at the flowing blood with a tiny tongue. For such a little thing, he was a glutton for food.

Jynx would gorge himself upon the blood. Which wasn't a large amount, given his size. But soon the chick's white scales began to flush red in small, almost intricate patterns.

Mathieu let the creature lap his blood up as much as it could. "... Pft. It's not that hard, feeding it..." He said. Now that he thought of it, he remembered that he did this kind of thing to Shealyne... Once or twice. When she didn't have her phials filled or, something. Bellamont suddenly scowled, pulling his away from Jynx. He was a Dawnguard. He was ordered to kill vampires and rid Skyrim of their threat. And he had very much relished in his job, too. Yet here he was, in a house a vampire invited him into, sitting around with some half-vampires, letting a damn vampiric lizard baby take his blood. Wow. What a shameful Dawnguard he was right now.

"Huh...and Ruccia always complains he is rough when eating..." Aiden murmured. Damn.

... Which led to a problem he'd been contemplating since last night - how he'd extract information for the Dawnguard. Appease them, and himself. If there was anything substantial to know. Mathieu had been in this situation before, though rare it is, and he always found hostility when broaching the subject. He hated it. The man could ask the twins general questions, though he might have the best luck with Shealyne - but even with her he had to play carefully. He couldn't walk in to Fort Dawnguard empty-handed, either way.

Leaning back on his chair, donning a look of faux curiosity, Mathieu nonchalantly spoke, "So, I'm aware your mother is a vampire. I've never minded that, as I've always been curious about... Their kind... So I was wondering what that makes you. Half-blooded? You two don't look to have most of the... Distinct features... I'm, just curious."

For some reason Mathieu felt like he should be instantly regretting what he said.

Connor furrowed his brow at the man, "The fuck do'ya mean 'distinct features'?" Was that an insult? Connor thought so.

Aiden sniffed, rubbing his nose, "Mother fucked a non vampire guy. And out popped us. Very simple. Though I think half breeds are very rare. You say you are a half-pire to normal folks, and you are run out of town. Generally. You say you are a half-pire to vampires, and they try to kill you." The blonde shrugged, "So, you gotta kill them before they kill you. The only thing you need to know is that half breeds have all the pros, but none of the cons. It is a win-win. I just filed down my fangs, though."

Oh. So they killed other vampires to protect themselves. Well, that didn't give Mathieu a lead to work upon. Unless he continued to follow them and Shealyne, and just so happen to come across more of the fiends trying to kill them. Despite this, Mathieu smirked at Connor, "By that, I mean most of the vampires originating in Cyrodiil look "distinctly" like a bag of smashed asses and one look at them from a mile away could make you wretch and run for the hills screaming. As if they'd been sucking skooma since they were born, even from their mother's tit. THAT kind of 'distinction.' But not you two and your mother. Take it as a compliment!"

Damn. Usually Bellamont didn't speak that bluntly. Whether it was to spit some remark at them or to try and level down to their crudely humorous demeanor, he wasn't quite sure yet.

Whether it was meant as a compliment or not, Connor saw it as one giant insult. The man's temper flared, and in a sudden lunge from his seat, ripped Bellamont right out of his seat and hoisted him up off the ground, feet dangling. The warrior held the Dawnguard member with enough pressure that the claw like fingers of his guantlets were threatening to bruise and pierce Mathieu's neck.

"How 'bout I introduce my fist to your fuckin' rat bastard face!" The man snarled.

As Connor moved his free hand to do just that, he was halted upon hearing the voice of his mother.

Shealyne was not pleased. And despite the bruise and swelling on her jaw and lip, her eye was cold, and hard. As was her voice, "Connor. Open your hand, or I open your ribs." The woman's tone was low, crisp, and dark with a certain fluidity to it.

Almost instantly, Connor let go of Mathieu, allowing the Breton to be on the ground. He didn't want to test his mother's patience. She would back up her words...

Mathieu tumbled, falling back on his chair but throwing it too far backwards, sending it crashing to the floor along with him. He didn't lay there long. The man hoisted himself up swiftly, shooting Connor a glare before turning to Shealyne. "I meant no disrespect to him. Merely making a jest."

"Yes, a jest about how hideous vampires are..." The Sauveterre murmured, before making a shooing motion with her hands. Connor frowned, a bit like a scolded child, as he took the signal to leave, and took Aiden with. Not after picking up Jynx, of course.

"I apologize. They are not normally like this." Shealyne spoke, moving to inspect Mathieu for any injuries.

Their might have been light scratches upon Mathieu's neck from Connor's deadric gauntlets, but otherwise he was not harmed. "I suppose they've been going through some troubles?" Mathieu said calmly. As if what transpired moments before, had not. Hey - he wasn't directing it at them, per se. Just at any of the other foul beasts.

"Yes. Just as everyone else." Shealyne spoke, a hand lightly moving to carefully touch his neck with her fingertips, inspecting the scratches. It was then warm pulses would gently flutter against his neck, a Restoration spell in her palm.

Even when warmth enveloped, Mathieu felt himself shiver at the sudden contact. "Thank you. And... I, apologize." It couldn't be told if that was sincere or not.

"You are welcome." Shealyne spoke. Though she decided to ignore his appology as she removed her hand from his person, though still held her hand out, as if to accept and hold something, "Where else are you injured? I smell blood, no?"

Mathieu revealed his cut palm to her. "I, erm, fed their pet a bit. Jynx? Yes. Such a dear little thing, it is."

"Yes. Jynx." The Sauveterre nodded, moving to gently grasp the man's hand. She had to fight herself not to pull away. It was strange touching something with a warm pulse. Her children aside.

"He is a strange little beast." The woman commented, her other hand moving to perform a simple Restoration spell to heal the cut.

Mathieu decided to just not say anything further as Shealyne healed his palm. Damn. It felt far too tense in here, enough to cut with a knife. He noticed the bruising on the vampire's face, and opened his mouth, but decided against expressing his concern and simply began to walk away in silence when Shealyne was done, his mind set on perusing the study.

Shealyne merely watched the man walk away. Hmmmm. Was it something she said? The Breton was confused. All she knew was that her fingers felt funny.

Dragons. Nords. The history of ancient Skyrim. That's what he searched for as he inspected the bookshelves, his fingers grazing the covers of each book as he strolled. He learned that ancient nord culture had been deeply integrated with that of the dragons, and thus, the thu'um, the Voice. All of the nordic burial tombs he had explored rested a word wall within, an unknown piece of a shout for him to discover and unlock with time. He hoped in skimming through some historic accounts he could find some clue to another nordic ruin.

Shealyne, herself, had simply went to a quiet place to begin reading and responding to her letters. She was slacking in responding to the College, and thus, she had no doubt that she was a bad Arch Mage. At least in terms of responding to potentially important topics. Most of them, so far, were quite trivial. And thus, boring. Except the letters from the Jarls that oh, so tactfully denied her Chapter building projects. Some Jarls responded more courtly. Others less so. It was a bit easy to tell which internal political side they were on based on their responses. It was quite fun being vaguely insulted.

Otherwise, she recieved a letter that was fairly blunt and brief. It was regarding an arranged marriage. Pfff. Shealyne was surprised her mother was even writing to her to inform her of the marriage, even if the details were beyond vague. The Sauveterre half expected herself to just suddenly be pushed on an altar the next time she saw her mother at Solitude. Still...the marriage did not make sense to the woman. Why with the sudden marriage? Ewwww.

Alas, it was not something Shealyne wanted to dwell on. She would rather spend her time looking for books about skooma addiction. There were very few-if no-books on the topic.

Once he found some possible books, he sat down at a table, got a few rolls of parchment and a charcoal, and started studying. Ah, they were voluminous ones, though. Extensive accounts. Hopefully the day wouldn't be over when he got something accomplished.

After once more failing to find any books regarding skooma, the woman grunted, disheartened. It was then she noticed Mathieu, and the large volumes of literature he had. Hmmph. Someone knew what he was doing.

Still, Shealyne decided to approach, "Do you require assistance?" The Sauveterre asked. She guessed the man was looking for something specific. But unless one knew a book by heart, finding said specific something could be very time consuming.

Mathieu glanced at Shealyne. "Why, yes. It would make things easier." He said. "I'm looking for the locations of nordic ruins. I'd assume these books would reveal something, but it would take... Some time. If there's mentions at all."

The woman nodded, before simply pulling out a chair and sitting across from the man. Shealyne resumed to grab a tomb, and work on skimming through the contents. Not that she knew any names of the Nordic ruins by heart. But she figured it would not be too difficult with contex clues.

Mathieu wasn't keeping track of the time, but awhile had passed before he was finally content with what they uncovered from the tomes; written in notes were a couple of possible places, and though a lot had nothing more than names to them, a few were definite leads. The breton closed the recent book he had read and dropped it atop the stack. "Thank you, Shealyne. It's a, great help in knowing these now."

And he felt like heading towards these ruins soon, too. He quite liked it. Dungeon delving, that is. He thought of someone that didn't mind accompanying him on these ventures - and soon a plan was forming. Mathieu got up.

"Do you still have things to tend to here? I'd presume so."

The Breton closed her book as well, all too happy to have the the activity end. Good. All that reading was hurting her eye. And every time she blinked, the words were all blurry and her eye needed to refocus.

Shealyne rubbed her eye with the back of her hand. She would have looked at Mathieu, but alas, her eye was busy being massaged, "No, nothing that is immediate..."

"Ah. Well, I've been, considering going to the Reach to meet with a friend of mine. Even search for one of these ruins. If she's willing... Perhaps you'd like to come along?" Bellamont lifted the books off and started placing them back in their original spots.

Upon hearing the man speak, she ceased rubbing her eye, red iris looking upon Mathieu, "She?"

While it may have been trivial, that brief mentioning terrified Shealyne. Shealyne was not used to such a rapid onslaught of emotions, and within a day, she was almost positive she experienced every emotion possible. Except one. Well, until now. And that emotion was jealousy. Jealousy mixed with cold fear.

But the Sauveterre didn't understand why. She was used to being calm, to being in control of her own feelings...but lately, she was just a cart wreck. And that scared her. What if she was never normal again? What was happening to her? Why wasn't she in control?

In Shealyne's confussion, she was not sure if she should smile, or frown. Thus, the woman initially frowned. Then she smiled, nodding her head, "Yes! I would like to talk and spend time with you!"

And then frowned, "If you would want me to, that is. I want things to get better between us, but I understand if you have had enough...I thought we would have more fun. But instead it has just been sad and scary and...the opposite of fun. Un-fun."

Ahhh! Fuck these emotions! Shealyne didn't want them. They made her pathedic and annoying. She was annoying herself! Oh, Sithis...she wished she could rip out her own heart out to stop these strange feelings. But then she would die. And she didn't want that. Why did she want to be human again?

Mathieu arched his brows. "Yes. She... And you're right. It hasn't been the, warmest, reunion thus far. It's barely been half a day. Our, relationship might not be as it was anymore, perhaps far from, yet your companionship might be the least thing that bothers me this moment. I'd like it. For the most part." He flashed the vampire a quick smile, as if to reassure her.

The woman barely managed to produce a weak smile back. She then got up from her seat, pushing the chair in, "As you wish. I am ready when you are."

Yay! She got to spend time with him! He was probably lying. That fuck. But, at least he was a distraction. A distraction from slaundering off to Cyrodiil to go chop off their daughter's head. Maybe that's why Shealyne was so sad and a mess? Mathieu was making her think of things and worry about emotions and mistakes she thought she put to rest.

While she tried to get her mind off of the topic, she couldn't. Even when she attempted her damndest to keep quiet, she couldn't. Because the more she dwelled, the more she worried about Mathieu. And the more she worried about him, the more bad she felt. It was hell. Shealyne wasn't even sure if being raped by a lycan was worse than this.

She already decided that she would tell him. That their daughter was the Listener. He deserved to know. He was the father. But it broke her heart, for it was cruel. Perhaps Mathieu would forgive her easier if she lied. But she fucked up enough in the past when they were lovers. She didn't want him doubting her loyalty ever again. If she had to prove her loyalty, and love, by telling him the truth, and in return she only gained his hate rather than his affection, than so be it. It would just prove that Mathieu was no better than her husband...and she would have been a fool again for wasting her time.

"Mathieu? I, uh-perhaps when we get to the Reach, or whenever you would desire, perhaps I can show you my memories? Of Runa?" The Breton questioned, voice soft, "I...I just want you to see her. I cannot stop time, or rewind it, but...but I can do that much. I just want you see our baby." There was sorrow, as well as hope within her voice.

Still, Shealyne would rather have the man see Runa for the innocent little girl she was, rather than the moster she became. If Mathieu did accompany her in slaying Runa, she would want him to remember their child as that. Their child. Back when things were a lot more innocent and hopeful.

"Really?" Mathieu could not hold down the elation in his voice. "You would do that? For me?... Yes, that would be nice, to at least glimpse her... Sometime when we set up camp to rest during our journey, you could do that, maybe. Certainly."

Oh, did he almost tell her to show him now. He wanted to see their daughter terribly much; what she looked like, how she behaved, what she enjoyed doing and what she was interested in, how she was like with her mother... Everything. Yet at the same time this made him downhearted, because with the way Shealyne spoke of her, memories may be the only way he'd ever know Runa. He wondered what happened. The twins were alive through their vampire blood, so why wouldn't Runa? How and why did she die?

He hoped that even so, she had lived a good life. A normal life. No matter how short. And he hoped Shealyne would've been trying her damndest to prevent their child's untimely fate. The vampire could lie and betray his love and not care for him all she wanted back then, but she better have cared enough about their child to try. Try to raise her well, try to protect her as much as she could. That's what he would have done.

Mathieu likely looked in a trance right now. All his hopes and thoughts had seemed to resurface at her suggestion. The man snapped out of it, checked his person to assure he hadn't forgotten something, and started towards the door. "If it's fine, then, I'd rather start now. The Reach can be a long trip if you make a point to avoid its dangers."

Shealyne nodded, and followed behind the man. She was smiling. Oh, she was so estatic! It was exciting! She hoped Mathieu would like Runa! Be happy to see her, even if it was only in memories. She hoped he saw that she tried her best. Even if it may not have been enough. It was scary as much as it was exciting.

"Thank you, Mathieu." Was all the woman said as she resumed to smile.

Mathieu glanced back. "It's nothing, Shealyne..."

Oddly, when they stepped out of the Restoration Chapter, Mathieu could feel this nettling sense of dread, as if something was observing them - yet as far as he could see there was no one with them. He kept alert, but didn't tell Shealyne of this feeling right off. He figured it was his natural paranoia when out afield.

He unfurled his map. "Once we meet with my friend in the Reach, we'll immediately go into, Haafingar. We'll likely stay in Solitude for a day, perhaps more, as we search for the tomb in that area."

... Well, so much for avoiding Solitude. That instantly killed the Sauveterre's smile. Oh, well. She guessed a possible confrontation with her mother was worth it if it meant traveling with her Brother.

In order to avoid the thought, Shealyne briefly listened. Haalfingar? That is a dumb name. She would never remember it.

"So, this Half-Finger is a ruin, yes? Is this due to you and the Dragonborn? You said you are such, I think. Does that make you a long lost Septim?" The woman asked.

Mathieu chuckled. "Oh, no, Haafingar is the, region where Solitude resides..." Then he murmured, "It's a stupid name..."

"But yes, I am a Dragonborn... Yet I don't know how, or why, I am. Whether it's from mother, or father, or if I am connected to the Septim bloodline. Somehow." Well, that was quite a peculiar idea. Almost funny, in a way. Him and mother never lived in the lap of luxury, yet if that was actually true, he was also part of the richest family in Tamriel. Hell. Martin Septim could've been his distant cousin or something... But wait. Would that validate him to be heir of the Emperor's throne?

By the Nine.

"...Oh. Ops. I like Half-Finger better. Haalfingar is strange and I will forget it anyway. The Nords have queer names for things...even their natives." The woman spoke.

"Hmmm. I always throught being Dragonborn was only a bloodline. I do not know how anyone else can be a Dragonborn if not of royal blood." Shealyne spoke, thought a bit, then laughed, "That is a funny thought. You being a Septim. Should I start calling Mathieu Septim? Or Mathieu Bellamont-Septim?" The red heard questioned in jest, laughing lightly.

Mathieu couldn't help but crack a smile, "... Pfft. By the gods... If I so happened to be, then perhaps I should march over to Solitude or the Imperial City and, declare my birthright of being heir to the throne. Hah. If it's not too late. I've heard a bit of this, Emperor Mede now?"

The woman resumed to chuckle lightly before quieting, "Mede. Yes. Though there are probably extensive records on the Septim breeding lineage. Nobles love keeping track of their own bloodlines. Even illegitimate ones. I would not be surprised if there are records in the Imperial City. They may not directly point to you, but you may be able to see a common ancestor. Like your father and his family or something." The Sauveterre spoke.

"Of course, if you are a true heir to the Septim bloodline, expect women to be throwing their panties at you and many a rich noble parents throwing their daughter's doweries at you for marriage." Shealyne further emphasised her point by producing a low, almost sultry whistle, as if one might make towards an attractive woman.

"Ha! Lucky you, no?" The Breton teased.

"Yes. So lucky that I'd have ladies trying to get in my pants, for the rest of my days, until I have to wed some idiot noble woman that I don't care for more than for looks. And sex, I suppose." Mathieu said, tone in mock boredom.

"That is why I ran away when I did. I did not want the marriage bed. It is not fun. It is not uncommon for noble women to be married to men at least twenty years older. At sixteen young girls are usually married off, though I have seen girls as young as twelve be married off to men in their forties. The parents arrange these marriages, naturally. Usually for money or power. It is sad." Shealyne spoke, "Well, errr, at least you will be wanted."

The woman shuttered slightly at the thought of the marriage bed. Nope. Nope. Nope.

"Bah, I do not like sex."

Mathieu simply gave Shealyne a bemused look. Though, with some of the things the vampire used to confide with Mathieu in, and one or two things he himself witnessed, he probably shouldn't have been surprised. Oh... He wished that hasn't still been happening to her...

The woman blinked, before noticing the look upon Mathieu's face, "What?"

Maybe she said too much? Opsie dopsie.

Mathieu shook his head, "Nothing. I'm unsure if it'd be too, personal, for you to want to share, anyway."

"Pfff! I am old. Nothing is too personal anymore. At least to certain people. By which, I mean you. No one else tends to care to ask. Or I have simply not spoken about it because the time has passed." The woman slightly shrugged her shoulders.

"...Ah. Well, about the, sex... In all the time I've been gone, you haven't been... Violated, again, have-"

There was a break in the calm as a rustling came from nearby. Mathieu stopped dead. Just as he craned his neck towards the sparse cluster of bushes to their side, leaves parted, and out forth lunged a figure, dark as a shadow, that tackled Mathieu to the ground and thrust a blade over their head. Ready to strike.


	3. Kinslayers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Torture scene and protagonists still behaving like sulky lil' bitches.

While Shealyne hadn't been abstute in observing her surroundings, she was swift to react. With magic, of course. That being, her response was to cast a potent paralyze spell at the offended. She personally would have gone with a shock spell, but then she may have accidentally hit Mathieu. And a paralyze spell was good at getting information, or at least subduing targets.

The attacker had been too occupied with Mathieu; just as the blade was wrought down it abruptly stopped, its tip poking Mathieu right between the eyes. The figure froze. Bellamont shoved - the attacker fell to the ground as stiffly as a statue being knocked over. He jolted upright. With the person still, he could now tell who it was; leather outfit and cowl, mask covering the face, endowed with colors of sanguine and black. It was a Dark Brotherhood Assassin.

"Of course... This is the, second time they've sent out a contract for me... Thank you, Shealyne. I don't know if I could have used my voice in time..."

While Shealyne did not recognize the armor, she did recognize the Black Hand symbol upon the armor, "You are welcome, Mathieu."

The Sauveterre then went towards the assassin to simply render them neutral. Which involved breaking their arms, which the woman did with two swift-if forceful kicks to each arm. She didn't feel like breaking each individual finger to pry the blade from their hands.

"Break a leg, yes? Ohhh, we can torture this one, no? It will be fun." The woman smiled.

Mathieu let out a low, dark laugh. "Ohhh, yes... I want to see if they're willing to spill some details." The man turned the assassin on their back, still paralyzed, unsheathing and burrowing his dawnguard war axe into a kneecap. The assassin could not speak - but oh, did he anticipate the screaming when the spell wore off.

"Ha! Yes!" The Sauveterre laughed. She wished she had pliers. Then she could sever a finger or two. Or all of them, depending if they spoke or not. As such, the woman simply watched for now, and waited for the spell to wear off. Which is rather quickly did.

As expected, the assassin screeched as the collective pain the two had caused flooded his senses. Mathieu knelt down beside him, "Speak. Tell us what we want to hear."

In spite of the pain wracking his body, the assassin looked up at him and glared. "Do what you want! But I will not speak... Never!"

Mathieu chuckled, "Good. We'll make you crawl along to your Dread Father and his whore of a bride, and pull you away when you're almost there!... Shealyne, what kind of tools might you have on you?"

"Unfortunately, none, dear. Well, that just means you and I will have to make due with what we have." The woman mock pouted, lower lip jutting out.

"But lucky for you...I am quite creative. I will take this." Shealyne purred, moving to take the blade away from the assassin, which she briefly inspected. Her other hand moved to push the assassin's hand against the ground. Which she promptly shot an ice spike through the palm, the ice shard piercing through the flesh and into the dirt.

The Sauveterre then began to hum quietly, flame spouting from her palm as she focused on heating the assassin's blade to an angry red.

The assassin shouted when the ice spike struck him. Smiling in delight, Mathieu went over to the Dark Sibling's legs, holding one up by the ankle. "How about something simple - who sent you? Names. Specifics. Don't be a wiseass."

"Tch. No."

CRa-ack! His ankle snapped sideways, broken.

"Do you have a note from your contractor? Speaker, Listener? Your orders?"

"Search me. You won't find what you wish to."

Shealyne, upon heating up the blade so that it looked akin to a freshly forged blade at a smithy's, simply pressed the heated metal against the assassin's face, searing the flesh, burnt skin wafting through the air. Huh. What a way to cook someone.

With her free hand, the woman decided to at least search the assassin's pocket for anything useful.

The assassin screamed despite his best efforts, writhing and and kicking his legs, until Mathieu pinned them down.

Shealyne would come across a note in one the assassin's pockets. Upon opening it, it would read "I gave you this contract because I know you're experienced, unlike your sister that fell prey to this man. Mathieu Bellamont is his name. He is quite the celebrity in Whiterun, so your best bet is to ask there, or lurk in the area... Oh. And he is "Dragonborn" as well. Just something fun to note."

Mathieu peered over at the note. "Liar. What does it say, Shealyne?"

"Hmmph. They know you are a Dragonborn and have been scouting Whiterun. Apparently this man is experienced. Pfff!" The woman murmured, holding out the note for her partner to take.

Experienced her left clit.

"Eh. He nearly killed me... Nearly." Mathieu said, reading the note for himself. Hm. Nothing he already didn't know. Pulling out his dagger, the breton now clasped the assassin's free hand and pinned his wrist down. "Where is your sanctuary?"

Silence. Then a yell as Mathieu chopped a finger off with the cold blade. "Where is it?" Another hack and shout, a finger severed. "Tell. Me. Where." He emphasized each word, but the assassin didn't speak, so off went another digit, and that seemed to be the final strike to lose his tongue,

"FALKREATH!"

Bellamont smirked. "And? What is the phrase?" While the assassin was too pained to be surprised, he had managed a firm response between groans and, even, tears - "You will never get to us! You will never get what you want! The Brotherhood is strong. They will strike you down if I told you, but even then, I would never betray the Brotherhood! I will never betray the Listener!" It seemed to be his final plea, but Mathieu was not eager to end it quickly. He peered at Shealyne, smiling, willing her to do what she wished.

Shealyne looked at Mathieu, and smiled. Once more, she heated the assassin's blade, pupil narrowing as her smile slowly became twisted and gnarled, "You will wish you have answered..."

She heated the blade until, like before, it appeared to be a newly forged blade. A Restoration spell formed within her free hand. In a sudden, downward strike, she plundged the blade up to the hilt of the assassin's stomach. Her Restoration spell was then unleashed in a constant stream. The spell was clearly powerful, and healed the man's stab wound almost as fast as the actual damage was made.

The Sauveterre raked her blade downward, gutting the man akin to an animal. Though the deep wounds of the gutting were fully sealed and healed in the blade's wake, as if it were never a wound.

The woman resumed to smile, fangs gleaming, "Phrase?"

Mathieu laughed at the damage Shealyne was causing the assassin. The blood, the screams, yet the amount of resilience the tortured exhibited - it was almost reminding him of Lucien Lachance, at Applewatch. And thus he was enjoying it very much.

"SILENCE! SIIILLENCE!" Was the dark sibling's response as he thrashed, only causing himself more pain against Shealyne's blade.

Upon recieving the phrase, Shealyne ceased her movements of the blade, save for actually pulling it out, "Mmmmm. Good boy." The woman purred, smiling as she briefly looked at Mathieu.

This was fun! And somewhat sexually arousing. Mainly when her Brother broke the man's ankle. That twist. That force. That power. He certainly knew what to do to inflict pain.

Ugh.

"Would you say our business is concluded?" The Sauveterre asked her companion.

"Certainly." Mathieu said. The assassin looked at them - though his gaze was slowly drifting due to his loss of blood - and choked out one word,

"Please..."

The breton smirked, "Of course, return to Sithis now, as you believe - drift off into the Void. It isn't as liberating as you think." In what seemed a blink, Mathieu had plunged his cold blade into the assassins skull and thrust it out, blood splaying out at his movement.

Shealyne merely blinked as she watched the blood, before simply staring at the crimson liquid, "Hmmm. Poor man...I think I enjoy torture a lot more than I should..." The woman murmured.

"What do you mean?... Hm. If you enjoyed this, then I wish you'd have, been there at Applewatch with me... This man is barely as mutilated as Lachance had been..."

"I know. I saw the aftermath." Shealyne sighed slightly,"It is strange. I feel pity where I should not and feel nothing when I should, sometimes. Pity a vampire hunter. Pity a bandit. Pity a beast. Pity my mother. Pity our Brother. Pity a mass murderig lich. Do not pity a slain child. Do not pity an innocent torture victim pushed to suicide. Do not pity a whole slaughtered town..." The woman pressed her lips together, "Sithis has made this Daughter possess cold hands but a soft heart..."

"Sithis has done things to us both..." And then Mathieu fell silent as he rummaged the assassins pockets for anything more, before going to dispose of the corpse. He couldn't think of something enlightening to finish his comment. He wasn't sure how to fix it fully himself... The things Sithis had gifted them both.

Shealyne was still in thought, "I assume you feel the same way, too, yes? Or something similar?" She hoped so. It would at least bring some comfort as to why she was so whishy washy on morality. Then it would not just be her. But it probably was.

"I think it is because I can see myself in some people. Or, at least, I see where they are, and I can understand. Nol is a lich. He is not good. He kills and tortures. Sometimes I help him, just because I can. Sometimes because I feel it is right. But that does not make what we do-what I do-okay. He wants godhood, and that is fine by me. I do not care. But sometimes we toy with the lives of people as if they are nothing. But sometimes, we save them, too. Help people. Not out of good will, but out of practical reasons. Or just because we happen to be at the right place at the right time to stop a bandit attack. Or a dragon attack. Or an undead raid." The woman frowned slightly as she thought.

"There was a Khajiit. She slew Nol before, the first time. She just happened to get in our way. Wrong place, wrong time. We tortured her. Ripped her teeth out, cut her tail off, slashed, stabbed, broke bones. At first, I did not feel anything. I did not care. But as time went on, I felt sick. And I wondered what kind of monster I had become. There was a sense of darkness. Like I had sold my soul and lost by humanity." Shealyne went quiet, pausing. She looked to the ground. To her fallen Brother. But he was not the same as the Khajiit.

"I was supposed to cut her fingers off so she could not try to harm herself. I only cut her finger tips off. She pleaded and cried. I was trying to offer mercy, even if it was small. We later found her dead. She had cut her own throat with her broken fingers in desperation to have an afterlife. Nol was furious, and he blamed me. When I saw him, quite the time later...he smiled. Grinned. But it was predatory. Evil. He said 'Only monsters help other monsters torture the innocent.' Still, there is a reason I help him, even if it means damning myself." Ugh. Fuck. Fuckin' stupid torture making her yap.

"He is good, deep down. At least, a part of him is. There is a good personality, but it is beaten down by all the others. He wrote to the Khajiit's husband, saying he was sorry for causing her death. I feel pity for the good one. But also the bad ones. I think I can relate, but I am unsure. I had very few people to help me in my darkest times. It is not fair if I damn this good part of Nol. But I do not know how to help him. Not truly. Even if I try, I just end up damning myself. Sometimes I wonder if I can even be called a human anymore. Or even have humanity. That is why I think I am so strange. Morally. I am sorry. I have spoken enough." Shealyne sighed, getting to her feet.

They had somewhere to do, damn it. Not listen to her blab her tongue off.

Mathieu didn't know what to say. At least, not for a long time. It felt like hours. He seemed in a daze, comprehending, considering what she's told him, trying to relate. He could. More than he could ever explain properly. In this moment there lingered conflict - a duality - where there was joy and satisfaction at seeing the blood on his hands yet anger and sorrow at painting them so, gnawing urge to go further bringing similar struggle. It was oh so confusing, and painful. And Mathieu was annoyed that he could barely begin describing it to Shealyne just as she did.

"I... I..." He just couldn't, damn it! "I... I understand completely. I know how you feel. I've felt it for so long... My entire life. Mostly."

And suddenly he got up, not outwardly sullen anymore, as he hauled the assassin up in his arms and decided for a place to hide the body. He didn't want to brood today any more than he has. Also not wanting Shealyne to brood with him. They had places to be, after all.

Shealyne did not say anything for a long him, as if comprehending his short response. She was happy, but a bit sad. This strange conflicting was like a hell. She was at least happy he understood. Or at least pretended to.

"I...thank you, Mathieu. For understanding." Geez. Shealyne was surprised Runa was not the most surley baby ever considering how much her parents just sulked and brooded.

Mathieu decided to dispose of the assassins corpse far off from the road into the hills, dropping the body on a dip in the plains where none would immediately notice it. This wasn't the most viable region to hide a body. At least the wolves might have at it. Retrieving his war axe still lodged in the man's knee, Bellamont returned to Shealyne. "... Hah! It had not been a month alive yet, when they sent their first Child after me..."

"Hmm. The Night Mother must hold a grudge." The woman assumed, rubbing her eye. She decided to keep the assassin's blade. Dawnfang was good to have, for it was reliable, and deadly, but Shealyne still prefered daggers. She felt less awkward. That, and Dawnfang was quite heavy for a single handed blade. At least to her.

Mathieu smirked. "Apparently she does. At least this time the encounter held something, substantial. Falkreath, huh? Silence?" The breton was exhilarated; even if the brotherhood still stood strong and wide-spread, picking off one sanctuary one member at a time was satisfaction enough. "As much as I, desire it, we'll wait to attack them for now. I haven't wiped out a sanctuary in a long while... But it is difficult."

"Yes, well...at least it is something." Shealyne spoke. She didn't look forward to killing her Brothers and Sisters. But then again, the ones she knew as her Dark Siblings were killed years ago. She hoped Runa would not be there...

The woman began to walk on in the way they were headed. She was kind of glad Mathieu seemed to forget his question prior to the attack. Not that she minded answering, for she found the answer funny. At least to her. Though it was not funny at the time, now she did find it as something. She never understood why vampires and lycans disliked each other. Now she assumed it was just because they took turns having rape wars.

"Your friend, she is pretty, no?" Shealyne asked, "You must have many companions."

Mathieu joined Shealyne's side as they returned to their travel. "I have a few... And," He knitted his brows, "Pretty? - Erm, yes, I suppose she is."

"Ah. I see." Was the woman's only response. Figured she was pretty. Though it was not hard for someone to be prettier than Shealyne. At least, that was what the woman thought. She never bothered to look at herself after her eye wound. It felt bad, so she guessed it looked worse. Even when bathing she did everything she could to avoid looking at her reflection. Even if it meant spritzing around and flailing her arms to ripple the water's surface like a bumbling toddler, "Does she wear the make up?"

Mathieu hadn't really payed attention to that. Why would he? Maybe. Maybe, if a woman looked like a damn clown because she decided to wear excessive make up. Then certainly. But he only took that rarely into consideration.

"No... I don't believe so. But she has, face paint. Just a little. And, she has a missing eye... Just like you." The breton glanced at Shealyne, watching her expression. He didn't know if that would strike a nerve with the woman, or sadden her somehow.

The woman furrowed her brow, "Oh?" Face paint? Was she a damn jester?

Hmmmm. But Shealyne never knew another person to have a missing eye before. Ruined, or blind eyes, yes, but never missing eyes. Maybe they could be missing eye buddies? And stuff.

The Breton seemed to somewhat relax at that, as if pleased, "I am sorry. I was just worried and jumping to conclussions as to whether you fancied her or not. I should be more mature at nigh two centuries old. Though, it is nice to hear. That I am not alone, in that regard."

Maybe they could swap eye losing stories? That sounded fun!

"... Does it matter to you if I do?" Questioned Mathieu. He took a gander to his surroundings; it didn't seem a far trek from the Restoration Chapter to the Reach, as they were now taking a left down the fork in the road that led into the region.

Oh. She guessed by his wording that he did indeed fancy this woman. Shealyne pressed her lips together, "I do not want my emotions to hinder any personal romantic choice you may choose, if you do."

Which may as well have been a big, winded 'yes'. But Shealyne didn't think it would be fair if Mathieu was influenced out of his potential happiness with another person just because it upset her.

Bellamont simply nodded at her words, shifting his focus on the environment, peering out for any further signs of trouble - he assumed Eola would be lurking farther in, near the city itself... Hm. He wondered if he had upset her. Made her... Jealous? After two centuries? Although... It was only a slight attraction he garnered for Eola. A small idea he's been entertaining. She was the only one he had been able to confide in, after all... Though now, the allure seems insignificant ever since his reunion with Shealyne. He didn't think about it quite as much.

"I just...I thought...you and I..." Shealyne's mind was reeling. Partially because of the area they were in, and partially because she was caught up in the idea of a man having an attraction to another woman. It did not surprise her, but both things certainly scared her. Unfortunately for Mathieu, that would meant Shealyne would yammer away. Generally, the woman liked talking, because she did not talk very much. But this type of garble was like a sudden slurge of verbal diarrhea. It happened whenever the woman thought and spoke at the same time, "I am not good. At the. The relationship things. The...they are scary. Because it may hurt. Physically. The sex. But emotionally, too. Most men are scary. Even the nice ones. But you are not scary. You help me feel safe, and I, I am not the best, the best lover. But, so...I was only hoping...but that is okay. Because I love you, and I want you to be happy. Even if that means having you be with not me."

The woman looked around the location, eye white, senses sharp, "I do not have good luck. With men. These passed few months, for some reason every one I met wanted me to be their cock sock when I have known them not even a day. Or to join their harem. No. No, I said no. So I left. The attention stopped. After the accident. But that is okay, because most men leave me alone now."

Shealyne cleared her throat. Fuck that damn dog person. And fuck her feelings and nerves and thoughts and mind. If she had known she would be such a pussy, she would have, well, not gone this way. Which was strange. Perhaps it was from the confussion and worry her Brother was giving her? Emotions were not fun...

"The...but-but it is funny. What happened, near here. It is funny, no? You know, vampires and lycans? It is funny. But not at the time. It was not funny at the time. But now it is! And the lycan was a dog-person! A dog-fox-person!" The Sauveterre laughed, as if it were a joke, "See? Funny, no?"

"But...but it is okay. It was not that bad. I could not see much except its teeth and tongue. And it only felt like being fucked with a knife. See? It is okay. I would rather it be me than some other poor girl. He could have targeted someone else. That would have been bad. Very. Bad."

And then the Sauveterre went silent, as is the sudden slurge of verbal diarrhea was suddenly shut off. Mostly, "You know, Mathieu, for every bad thing, there is a good thing. You cannot let yourself get ruined unless you want to be ruined. I choose to not remain ruined."

It was odd. Through that garbled mess of words, the woman simply relaxed, and ceased her looking and fretting. Huh. Maybe she should express herself more? She never told anyone about the rape and strange men. Ever. Maybe pretending it never happened was a bad idea after all?

Mathieu spun toward Shealyne, colored across his face a look of both unease and rage, "So you were, you were - DEFILED again? By some sick, slobbering mutt no less!? That is NOT funny, Shealyne, and it does not make it any less vile because it happened to you!" He then scanned the area with cold, narrowed eyes, as if he expected the lycan to appear before them any moment. "...How depraved one must be..."

After some time the breton sighed. Likely, the lycan wasn't around here. Maybe it was dead. But he liked the thought of himself serving justice to the beast.

"You know, Shealyne... I still, love you. I still care... As I always have. But I am still irate that you LIED to me our whole relationship, whether you wanted to tell me, or not... But I am not happy with another. Not yet... We can start together, anew. You wish it, it seems. I wish it. It is quite possible."

... Huh. Usually he wouldn't be so fluid, so straightforward, with something like this. But it all seemed right, somehow.

"I know, but...it just helps me cope, is all. It is better than being angry or sad." The woman sighed, unsure what to think.

Though she smiled, "Thank you. Thank you for loving me. Still loving me. After everything, and what I have told you. I do not care what you do now, or what you have become-Septim-Dragonborn or no. I accept you, and, well, I still do love you. Even if you sometimes scare me when you get angry. That is what makes you, well, you." Shealyne resumed to smile.

Huh. Maybe she should express herself more often? Good things seemed to happen then.

Mathieu returned the smile, though it faltered quickly. "We might not rekindle it so soon... It might not be easy... But we could, try, at least..." Though he was still worried. Worried that Shealyne still keeps things from him. But, at least there seemed to be an even ground between them now.

Shealyne smiled slightly, "To try is all I ask for." She was happy. At least things were evened out, and it was not such a mystery on how he felt anymore. It was a good feeling.


	4. Toddler Terror

He figured searching for Eola would take a day, at least. So long at the forsworn or other creatures would not cause too much harm. She was probably residing in Reachcliff Cave right now... But then his hopes started to rise when he saw two bodies on the road. Forsworn. Though one could not be sure if the completely immolated one was, the other one sported the normal attire bones and hides, as well as... Bite marks? Along her body. And when he looked closely, her companion was fed on, too. Mathieu smirked. She preferred well-roasted for this one apparently. Hah!

As they came upon the bodies, Shealyne scrunched her nose slightly. Bleh. She did, however, pull a bottle of alcohol out of her satchel, popped off the cork, and chugged.

Mathieu tried to find any more signs. Bodies, footprints - and was unsuccessful. However, these bodies were fresh, which meant she was near.

A laugh. Mathieu was proven true when he saw a woman sitting at the base of a jutting rock, materializing out of thin air. She appeared to be breton, like them. Shoulder-length blonde hair, three strips of face paint across the left side of her face and a milky white eye. "Ah, Mathieu, I didn't expect you. More so another one of them." She spoke in a smooth, almost sultry voice. When she gestured to the Forsworn, she also looked at Shealyne. "And who's this?"

The Sauveterre looked at the mortal. She blinked, tone stoic and hard, yet crisp. Like it naturally was, "The Mad God." Was all the red head replied with. Her tone was not good with jokes. Even if it was not meant as such, it still made her response seem like a failed jest.

The woman tilted her head at Shealyne, and Mathieu furrowed a brow. "Mad God? How powerful you must be." It was unsure whether or not she was being sarcastic. But it sounded so. "Shealyne? This is Eola." Mathieu introduced.

The Breton merely blinked in response, arms lax at her side, "How quaint."

What a pleasant woman, Eola thought. She stepped down from the rock, continuing to gaze at Shealyne until she approached Bellamont. "Keeping busy? Everyone's been starting to miss your company."

"It's, the usual. Of course. I met with Shealyne a day ago. She's an old, old friend... So we've been traveling together. Are you occupied? ..We.. wished to have you along with us." More so 'I' than 'we'. Eola glanced at the vampire again, appearing to inspect her with a strange smile, before she said,

"No. Not occupied now. I've been... Craving some adventure. The Forsworn can only be so fun to fool around with."

Shealyne simply chose to ignore the woman. Or pretend she did not notice the queer staring. Bitch.

Ah, but no. She was Mathieu's friend. So Shealyne needed to try and be friendly, if for his sake.

"You should try hunting vampires. Their ash looks like fallen snow." The Sauveterre commented. Though she figured the new woman knew what she was. She said 'one of them', after all. The Breton took it that this Eola did not like vampires. Nor did Shealyne.

"Hmm. I've faced only a few vampires. Tricky, oh so tricky, but their skills are something to be admired. Magics, agility... I've bothered not on hunting them, though." Eola said. Mathieu was letting the two talk, peering up at the evening sky. Had the day gone by that fast? They would have to camp soon, though with forsworn nearby, they needed to be mindful of where.

"Fah! These vampires have a weaker dominant strain than Cyrodiil's, from what I can tell. They are almost human. Almost. The...nox strain. Noxaphilia? Nox-something. That is the most dangerous strain I have seen." Shealyne spoke. She should know. For some reason everyone in her fucking family had that strain. Well, almost everyone. And she wasn't even sure how they got it. Her family was normal-mortal-and then-poof! Vampirism galore! At least Shealyne could get some solice in the fact that her bitch mother was stuck looking like a badly aged seventy year old for all eternity.

"Oh? Never heard of those, never seen them in action... But you seem to be knowledgeable. Of course, I'd expect you would." Eola gave the other woman a plain dead stare.

However, Mathieu's interest was piqued. "Noxaphilia? By what means, is it dangerous?" He had a light discussion with his fellow Dawnguard one day of what breeds of vampire there were, what features to be aware of, but he couldn't remember if he was aware of that particular strain. And if that is one of the most dangerous? He just needed to know.

"Do not quote me on the strain name, Mathieu. I just know it has nox in it." Shealyne spoke. Fuck, she could barely remember her own strain.

The Sauveterre proceeded to ignore Eola. For the most part. Save for a smile that displayed her large canines, tongue teasingly flicking one of the fang's tips. If this moody bitch knew, then there was no reason to hide. Not that the Sauveterre ever bothered to hide her disease. She was fairly blunt about it.

Shealyne then turned her attention to Mathieu, "It is a second era strain. Very rare. But it is still an active strain. One does not need to be bitten to get infected. From what I know-or rather-from what I have heard-it is like a ritual where one bathes in blood. As if an awakening, of sorts. The vampires are weak during the day, almost like humans, no? Save for the fact that sunlight does not harm them. But during the night, they are demons. Not literally, but they become immune to pain no matter how severe, and they can heal and recover from their wounds in seconds. Perhaps minutes, even. They are strong. Very strong. Even a vampire that has no skill in combat can tear apart a seasoned warrior."

The woman spoke. She should know. Her mother was strong. Physically strong. And she could not fight her way out of a paper bag.

Mathieu nodded, digesting the information. "Ah. I see. Very volatile, best to avoid at night... If one even could..." Again he looked at the sky, orange-red hue slowly fading to blue, sun sinking beyond the mountains. "We'll need to camp for the night. Soon."

"That is fine." Shealyne spoke. Hmmmm. She wanted that Forsworn outfit. She should have taken one when she had the chance with those corpses, "I can take watch, Mathieu. You can sleep this time."

Hmmm. Maybe the reason Mathieu seemed to avoid sleep was because sleeping reminded him of the Void? Poor man. She would have to ask him sometimes.

"Pfft. I'll try." Mathieu said. Glancing to Eola, he asked, "Anywhere around here... Secluded? You'd know best." Eola then motioned for him and Shealyne to follow, leading them far off the main road, through a patch of uneven land and groups of rocks, into a dip where a small cavern burrowed into the mountainside. When they arrived Mathieu immediately went off to gather whatever firewood he might find.

Shealyne merely frowned as she watched Mathieu walk off. That was not good. Mortals needed to sleep. And she was almost certain the male had not slept in days. Hmmmm. Maybe she could help him? To sleep? But Shealyne was unsure how to do that. Oh! Perhaps she could sing a lullaby, and he would fall asleep? It worked for Runa. Mostly.

The woman, despite being lost in her thoughts, decided to pull herself out in order to ask Eola a question, "Your eye-were you born with it as such?" While to Shealyne, it was a question out of curiousity, one could certainly see it as rude.

Eola, despite the supposed discourtesy of the question, answered placidly, "No. It's a battle wound, nothing exciting. Sadly."

As Mathieu collected twigs and branches and very rarely a good, thick piece of wood, he wondered if he should have informed Shealyne more about Eola before they met, to avoid tension; that she was dubious. Enigmatic. How her leveled tone was hard to discern emotions from, for the most part. One might misinterpret her often. Then again, sometimes Mathieu did not understand how she felt or thought. Yet she was willing for him to share his secrets with her.

"Ah. I see. A shame." Though it was unsure exactly what the woman meant.

"And yours? Was it some injury you cauterized, or was it simply burnt up?" Eola questioned. By this time Mathieu had returned, not wanting to stray too far, and began setting up a small fire. It was done quick. Eola noticed - and with a flick of her wrist she sent a wisp of fire flying into it, setting it alight.

Shealyne shrugged, "Just a mishap. A lich was terrorizing Whiterun hold. A crack shot lich hunting party was formed. Its lair was in the ruins of Helgen. Or at least, its army of vampiric thralls were. My eye was stabbed out by an ally by accident. Or, rather, the blade popped it out. It was hanging by the nerve, yes? So it was cut. And then cauterized with a hot fire poker."

Though the Sauveterre left out the part that it was Aiden that accidentally caused the damage.

"Ouch. Quite the 'mishap', wasn't it?" Eola said. She strolled over to Mathieu and sat by the fire. Mathieu looked up from his satchel that he fished out food from, "That lich. It isn't that same 'Nol' man you spoke of, is it?"

Shealyne nodded, "Yes. The same." The woman spoke, approaching the fire to warm herself. The Breton figured she was a crappy vampire. Or at least an ironic one. She hated the cold. She liked warmth. Heartbeats were scary and gross. Mortal blood was gross.

Eola exchanged glances with Mathieu once he had finished rummaging through his bag, and it seemed as if a silent conversation was passed between them. Eola smirked. She glanced at the contents of the bag, looked briefly at Shealyne, then back to him. Mathieu blinked. For a slim second, worry flashed in his face.

"Shealyne... Mad God? I don't believe Mathieu here has ever told me of you. He said you were old friends? How did you first come across each other?" The other woman said.

"I am not surprised. There is not much to be spoken of me." The woman replied, tone akin to a low drawl, smooth and slow. Yet a hint of bitch, "But, if you must know, I was a captive, once, in a filthy mold infested basement. Mathieu rescued me."

The Breton shrugged. It was a simple response. Hmmmm. She wondered what those two were talking about? With their eyes? Probably nothing good.

"Yes... That disgusting place," Mathieu grimaced, "And its depraved residents... They deserved to be slaughtered. I hope the house is rubble now."

No witty remark. No broaching further. Eola saw how mad Mathieu looked as he replayed the memory in his head. She nodded, and asked something else, "How long have you known each other, then? After that?"

"Ohh...quite a few years. I do not keep track of time, unfortunately." Shealyne spoke. Hmmm. At least they could lie together. Well, a half lie. But it was better than a full lie.

Mathieu eyed the fire. He really should have forewarned Shealyne now; it would have made talk easier. Eola knew his place in and his ploy against the Brotherhood. They didn't have to dance around the fact. But he forgot! Forgot to tell her that! Oh well. It would be known eventually.

Eola nodded. "Well, Shealyne, a friend of Mathieu is a friend of mine. And I tend to like getting to know them. Figure out if they have similar... Tastes. Hm?"

"Unfortunately, I am not good at the friends thing. They all tend to die." The Sauveterre shrugged her shoulders.

The woman then turned her head away from the fire, pupil illuminating in the reflection of the flame. She simply remained staring into the darkness.

"Such a downer," Eola shook her head, scooting over to Shealyne's side. "I've had countless friends die as well. Or betray me. That is another way for a friend to die. It hurts... But I find new companions. It's no good having none to... Confide in, to tell your ugly, dark secrets too. It hurts more to lock it in."

"I'd be, apprehensive of companionship, if they all died, too." Mathieu reasoned.

"But a part of yourself feels alone then, doesn't it? You wandered the Hall of the Dead that day, longing for company, an ear that understands, hm?" Eola gave him a knowing smile and he went back to staring at flames.

Shealyne just shrugged, "Some secrets are best kept hidden. The truth can hurt far more than the lies."

"But if the truth hurts, then perhaps it is that person's fault for not listening, not taking time to understand why the truth is as it is? No matter how vile?" Eola said.

Shealyne blinked, listening to the woman's words, "That is true." The Breton nodded. Her husband did not attempt to listen. He just got angry and chewed her head off.

There was a long, silent moment between the three bretons, broken slightly by the sounds of crackling flame and sizzling of meat cooking. Eola exchanged one more glance with Mathieu before digging through a small pack strapped to her hip. "So. Shealyne. Have you fed? It's not purely blood, but I find it a delectable substitute, myself..." She procured a hunk of raw meat, seemingly fresh with blood dripping over it. Offered it to the vampire. Mathieu saw - tensed up - turned his head away into the night. By the Nine... He didn't think she'd bring this about so soon. Was she so straightforward because Shealyne was a vampire? That human flesh and blood was a typical meal to vampires?

Shealyne turned herself to the scent of the blood. Her nostrils flared. Was that...

The woman looked at the hunk of flesh for quite a while, before turning her gaze to Mathieu. He was not looking. So they ate the flesh of others?

Part of Shealyne could care less. The other part was disgusted that her Brother would partake in such an act, almost betrayed or offended that he would simply feed the same way as that fat puss gutted man and his deformed father would.

Though rather than fully expressing herself, the Sauveterre just raised a hand, and lightly shooed the offer away, "No thank you. I stopped feeding on mortals years ago."

Mathieu met Shealyne's eye for a moment, then returned to his staring with a small look of guilt. She fully knew. He did not need to speak to prove it true. She was probably being reminded right now of that sick family back at the decayed farmstead.

Eola, surprisingly, accepted that, pulling back her arm. "Oh? That's curious. What do you feed on, then?" She asked.

"Animals." Was the woman's simple answer, "But I try not to kill them. It is cruel."

Eola snickered, though it was out of good humor. "But aren't animals, by all means, mortals? Live and die in a natural lifespan?... Likewise, humans can be considered animals."

The Sauveterre shrugged her shoulders, "By all means, humans are considered and are often referred to as cattle by vampires. Lucky for you, I prefer the cattle-cattle. They go 'mooo' and some of the friendlier ones try to nuzzle me."

Eola chuckled just a little harder. Mathieu was too busy trying to gnaw a bite off a cooked but tough-ass piece of meat.

Hmm. Maybe Shealyne should try asking a question? She was not good at holding conversations. Or making friends, for that matter, "Enlighten me, yes? How did you meet Mathieu?"

Probably through cannibal orgies.

Well, with the truth known, Eola found no need to fabricate. "At the Hall of the Dead, in Markarth."

"I was sent to investigate, disturbances, there..." Mathieu commented.

"And I introduced myself. We then made a bargain, that if he helped cleared my former residence of draugr, I would leave the Hall be. Then we were journeying together."

"And you could not just eat the zombies alive? Give them a taste of their own medicine?" Shealyne questioned, "I would have."

But then again, the woman probably had the actual jaw strength to do that, whilst Eola did not.

Eola smiled at the remark, although she said, "I tried draugr once. They taste foul. Though I did give a vampire a taste of what it's like to be the victim. Somewhat. But... No offense to you, of course."

Mathieu continued fighting with the strip of meat. Damn, it was like chewing leather. But even so, he listened in on Eola and Shealyne. Huh. At least Eola omitted him from the act. He figured that woudn't have bode well with Shealyne. Not at all.

Shealyne scrunched her nose slightly, "I assume that tasted just as foul as the zombie." Vampires tended to not smell as good, either. They kind of smelled like something was dead. Probably because they were just sentient walking corpses, "I only bit a man's cock off, once. It was not a smart idea."

But the man pissed her off. So off went his little worm.

Shealyne then blinked, turning to the still struggling man, "Do you require assistance?"

Mathieu looked up, "No. It's fine." Done trying, the man simply discarded the meat in place of one of the others he cooked - which was actually edible, thank the Nine. He then studied the fire, contemplating dousing it now.

"Oh. It did. Though I hadn't tried vampire before, so it was a little sampling. I should have expected that much." The other woman furrowed her brows, "...Really, though? Huh. Mathieu, I think you should be cautious..." She jested.

Mathieu scoffed.

"I do not know which is worse: you speaking of sampling vampires, or a companion I had that would not cease his tongue about tasting me..." The Sauveterre murmured. Not that it bothered her. She then realized oral fetishes seemed to be quite common in her traveling companions. At least when it came to eating things.

"Fah! He has nothing to worry about. I only blow the men I like. And get a red shower from the ones I do not like." And thinking of eating, Shealyne was hungry.

"Pffft." Mathieu rolled his eyes. But he did not remark anything, getting up to put out the small campfire. "So you're to take first shift, Shealyne?"

The woman nodded, "Yes. I can take watch the whole night. I do not mind."

She could see in the dark, and see any nearby life forces. That, and vampires didn't need sleep. Well, Shealyne loved to sleep. Minus the odd dreams and nightmares she would get. But she had heard and seen vampires who apparently never slept. So, she assumed vampires did not need to sleep to function. At least as much as mortals.

Mathieu seemed unsure, though he knew Shealyne would be more than capable. Perhaps somebody already caught them? Saw their fire? Was their an ambush being planned? And the creatures too. Trolls, sabre cats, bears and wolves. Sabre cats and wolves especially would pounce before you had time to react to the signs... And there were the ever silent assassins and the groups of vampires that found ways to track him down, so they only way to keep watch of them was to keep your eyes open. Ears pricked up. Conscious. Always conscious...

As Mathieu went to lay down and rest, he found himself fearing this night... Oh, he didn't want to see the Void... He didn't want to shut his eyes...

Shealyne slowly got up from her seat, and moved to carefully plop herself next to Mathieu. Mainly because she wanted to make sure he would actually fall asleep. The woman said nothing, nor did she move. She simply kept alert, head swiveling every once in a while.

This would be a long night, hmm?

"Oh. She's watching me. Of course." Thought Mathieu. He attempted to feign sleep, closing his eyes, rolling over so that his back faced Shealyne, keeping alert with just his ears. Though at times he felt he was shutting his eyes for too long, and peeled them open just a bit to assure himself that yes, there were shapes around him, though obfuscated by the night, and yes, he did still have a body.

Shealyne merely blinked, eye briefly watching as Mathieu turned his back to her. Hmmmm. She figured it was a nice try. For a man freigning sleep. It was a juvenile tractic her children used to do. Pretend they were asleep. She guessed Mathieu was doing the same. Which meant he was not relaxing.

Slowly, Shealyne's hand swelled with mana. It was a calming spell. Maybe that would help her Brother?

The woman then went to cast the spell upon the man.

Mathieu felt a strange sensation wash over him. He found his anxious thoughts suddenly cleared from his mind. "What, in?..." He started, briefly forgetting who was beside him before mumbling, "Oh... You didn't need to cast a, spell, Shealyne..."

"Shhhhh. Just rest. I will be here." The Sauveterre whispered softly, voice a gentle, almost motherly coo. She did not want to speak too loudly, nor did she want to risk disturbing Eola. A hand simply moved to stroke his hair in a tender and slow pattern, as if a parent attempting to comfort and calm a child.

Despite her calm stroking, Shealyne resumed to swivel her head around every once in a while, watching, and listening. And smelling.

Shealyne's soothing, her gentle touch and coos, was a surprise at first to Mathieu. He hadn't felt this type of touch, tone of voice, since mother. It was nice. Usually there was no physical presence to console him, he simply had to fabricate it in his mind. He slowly fell into a trance at the vampire's comforting, closing his eyes, nigh falling asleep when he began imagining all the times this happened as a child. Which easily led into imagining mother. Mother, mother...

"...Mother..." Murmured the man. He rolled over to face Shealyne again, cuddling up to the woman and pressing his face into her leg.

Shealyne was a bit startled as her Brother's cuddling at first, though calmed. She resumed to stroke his hair, and did not bother to move. She did not want to disturb Mathieu.

Maybe she would have to do this more often, or every once in a while? Mathieu seemed to like the simple maternal affection, and if it made him sleep better, then that was fine by Shealyne.

She just hoped he would not start viewing her more as a maternal figure than a romantic one. Shealyne would be quite disheartened at that. But if it happened, it happened.

Hmmm. But then again, Shealyne did hear of women refering to their male partners as their fathers...why? The woman was not sure. She just assumed it was a strange fantasy regarding incest.

Mathieu got closer to Shealyne in his trance, now crawling up to rest his head on her lap. "... Oh, mother... How nice, it is... You haven't, been talking, to me... For so long..."

Oh! Well, hot damn...Shealyne wasn't sure what to do. But Mathieu seemed happy. She wanted the man to sleep, but here he was, trying to curl up on her like a little lap dog.

Shealyne resumed tenderly stroking his hair, debating if she should speak or not. She could pretend to be his mother, but the woman was unsure how she sounded like. But if she played her cards right, she could make her Brother go into la-la land a lot faster.

"Shhhhh. Sleep now, my little love. Mother is here. Mother is always here." The woman cooed, tone gentle and soft, yet sweet, as if honey.

Sleep! Sleep, damn you, Mathieu! She felt awkward!

Despite her inner termoil, Shealyne briefly looked around once more so as not to be fully distracted. Once finished, the Breton bent down, and gently caressed her lips against the man's brow in an attempt to further calm him and get him to sleep.

It usually worked with her children, anyway.

The voice didn't sound quite right. It was sweet, tender, but something was out of place... But it didn't matter. Mathieu still played into Shealyne's motherly act. And at the vampire's kiss, Mathieu gave an airy, childish giggle - which just sounded unnerving coming from the mouth of a man. He didn't know. He seemed to be in another world. "... I love you... Mother..." His voice was oddly pitched, lighter and higher in tone, at least as much as it could get to that. "Don't run away again... I want to help..."

... What? The? Fuck?

Oh...Sithis, help her!

The woman smiled slightly, "Mommy loves you, too, sweetie. Mother will not run away again. Never again. She promises. But, you can help Mommy, right, sweetie? You can help Mother by being a good little boy, and go to bed, hmmm? How does that sound, my little love?"

Oh, Sithis. She was probably making it worse! She just wanted Mathieu to sleep! And now Mathieu turned into a child!

"But Mommyyy..." He whined, "How can I sleep with the monsters here? There's monsters everywhere..."

"Do not worry, honey. Mother will keep the monsters away. No monster will hurt you so long as Mommy is here. She promises." Shealyne cooed, once more moving to tenderly kiss Mathieu's brow.

Ugh. She had no idea she'd be spending the night trying to make a man child go to bed...maybe she should hit him with another calming spell?

Mathieu yawned. "Alright, mommy... If you promise..." He twisted around, craning his neck and planting a small kiss on Shealyne's lips, eyes half-closed. Not that he could really see Shealyne in the darkness. "I'll sleep in dark just for you... Love you..." Finally when he shifted to lay across the vampire's legs, almost sitting on her lap, did he start nodding off.

Shealyne blinked, unsure what to think about the odd behavior and kiss. It clearly wasn't sexual, and was more of a simple kiss of a child giving to a mother...it was both sweet, but very unnerving at the same time. And the simple contact made her lips feel weird and tingly.

"...Love you, too, honey." The woman decided to end her act with that statement.

Ugh. At least he was starting to sleep. But on the down side, he was pretty much on top of her like a lap dog. So Shealyne couldn't move.

Her hand ceased stroking his hair, and simply moved to support his head. Now Shealyne could swivel her head and keep watch in peace.

Mathieu was slowly drifting to sleep. He was scared of the hazy feeling and the darkness that came with it, but with that statement ringing in his mind, he welcomed the void with a small smile.

Shealyne would remain where she was, unmoving, and taking watch to the best of her abilities, until the man simply woke up.

It would be the early hours of the morning before anything began to stir. Eola got up, taking her sweet time to awaken before approaching Shealyne and Mathieu. "So you managed to put him to sleep? I don't know how you did it. He'd just pretend it with me." He drawled, shrugging her shoulders.

"Oh, it was a bit like coaxing a child to go to bed." Shealyne replied with a slight shrug. She figured Mathieu would wake up soon. Her legs were cramping, her butt was sore, and her arm felt numb. She only hoped he would wake up as normal Mathieu and not man-child Mathieu.

"Did you sleep well?" The woman asked, looking at Eola.

"Oh, just fine. I'm astonished nothing attacked." Eola said. Mathieu was soon roused, assessing his current position with confusion before getting off of Shealyne. Did she pull him to her? All he remembered was her stroking his hair before waking up right now.

"Ah, good morning, Mathieu. You slept well, no?" The Sauveterre asked, struggling to get up due to her stiff limbs. But she slowly managed to get to her feet, bones popping.

"I... Suppose so?" Mathieu said. He stretched his limbs and wandered about the camp, planning their next course.

Shealyne frowned slightly. The woman slaundered over to her Brother, which was no easy feat, given her leg muscles were cramping. But upon doing so, the Breton lightly tapped Mathieu on the shoulder, "A brief word in private, yes?"

Mathieu turned to face Shealyne. "Of course."

Though he assumed ill from this 'brief word in private.' He expected her to scrutinize him for what she discovered last night. About the cannibalism. But he didn't entirely blame her, either... Mathieu gestured for Eola to stay, while he and Shealyne distanced themselves from the camp.

Upon arriving at a spot for privacy, Shealyne simply stopped and briefly stared at Mathieu, blinking, "Mathieu, are you...okay?"

Mathieu furrowed a brow. "... Yes? Why, do you ask?"

"Because you were acting...very strange last night. Quite disturbingly so. Do you recollect anything? After I used that calming spell on you?" Shealyne asked, her lips forming into a worried frown.

"I... Believe I remember you, combing your fingers through my hair? That's all." Mathieu's expression was twisting into bewilderment at Shealyne's words, trying to think of what he did. What did he do? Did he do something to her? No... He couldn't have.

Shealyne's brow furrowed in worry, lips pressing together into a thin line as a strange noise of concern hummed from her throat, "Mathieu, you...well, you changed after that. Not physically, but...you spoke exactly like a child. Your voice changed to even sound like one. You were referring to me as your mother. Sithis, you even kissed me as if a child kissing his mother. T'was very unnerving. A bit adorable, but largely disturbing."

"... Truly? That... That happened?... I... Don't remember that. Not at all. I, thought I fell asleep, soon after you cast that spell..." If Shealyne had wanted clarification on why he acted like a child, Mathieu apparently could not give that to her. He was just as perplexed, if not more.

"It is...just disturbing. Very." The Sauveterre murmured, "I am unsure as to what to think, seeing you act as such." Hearing that giggle from a man had to be the most unsettling thing Shealyne ever heard.

Mathieu shook his head. "I, apologize. I don't know what came over me. Why that happened..."

"Hmmm. It is fine. It is just a bit difficult seeing your lover-err, ex-lover? Potential lover?-never mind. It is just difficult seeing you act like a child and acting as if I am your mother." The Sauveterre spoke, "Wait. Your old diary. It had writing akin to a child, yes? Do you remember writing that passage?"

It would not prove difficult to unearth this memory if he indeed had it; extensive time surrounded by nothing else had caused him to dwell on his memories. And his mind was particular with the time of his diary entries. Even so, he could not recall this. "No. I do not." Said Mathieu. He bit his lip, considering. "Though... I do recollect. This has happened before - where I, lose conscience, and when I wake there is childish babble in my diary. It's occurred, four times?... At least. Those are just the instances written. If I had not somehow written, I may not even remember..."

This had always been unnerving to him as well. He didn't put together what causes it. He didn't think people would talk with him about it. And admittedly, the man was deathly scared at the thought of not controlling his own body. His own actions.

"Hmmm..." Shealyne paused in thought, "So, you have black outs?..."

Now that the woman thought of it...she had a very large black out with Nol, once, "...Hmmm. I had one, once. A black out. I remember I was traveling through the mountains, trying to get into Cyrodiil. But then, I fell, and slipped into a cave, no? The fall was deep, very deep, but I do not remember anything after. Then, the next thing I know, I woke up in an inn at Anvil. I do not know why I was there, or how I got there, or how long I laid in that bed or how I got out of that cave. It was very frustrating, trying to remember, but you cannot. Nol said I was a different person. Very annoying, very stupid, and very...uh, thinking it was the Third Era? And talking about marriage? And High Rock?" Shealyne knitted her brows together.

"The point is, I think, is that what if different parts of you are in your head? Like a former self? But still a part of you? Like you...you were a little boy. And you are still very upset about your mother? Maybe it is something like that?" Shealyne wasn't sure what she was getting at. She hoped she made sense. But she probably did not. She wasn't sure if she liked that idea, of a different part of her living in her head. That other her wasn't allowed to...do whatever it was she did and be dumb. And do things without Shealyne's knowing.

"Hm. Luckily, I don't believe I've ever traveled long distances without knowing... But, yes, that makes sense. It is a queer thought though. I... Haven't behaved like that since before she was, taken. To think I could act as I were then so easily - not to mention being unaware that you're doing it?" A suppressed chill ran up his spine. My. Who knows what terrible things could happen when you're blacked-out.

"Fah! I woke up in a bed naked with Nol shaking me awake. Not sure why I was naked or why he was there or why my head hurt, but at least he told me the details. I do not know if that was the only time. How can I know if I do not remember?" Shealyne questioned, "But, I do not think you are a threat, when you are...uh, being child-you. You seemed to be a sweet boy. But if danger were to happen, I do not know if you would be able to snap out of it. I half expected you to wake up and still be a child."

Mathieu started to settle in a little, sitting down on a low ledge. This was turning into more than a brief word. And he didn't mind it. "From my knowledge, I've never interacted with anyone, in that state..." He shrugged his shoulders, "Besides once. It was on a road near Whiterun. Perhaps the very road we traveled... And I was merely walking, observing the scenery, when I blacked out... I woke up still on that road... But, my diary now said I had met a man then. A, jester?... Cicero, I think was the name. He was escorting his dead mother to a crypt, and I helped him fix his wagon wheel. Apparently. It's unnerving. There was no signs of that jester on the road. I had not seen him at all in my conscious state... I'm, unsure, if he was really there, or if it was the 'childs' imagination..."

Mathieu tilted his head at Shealyne. "Have you heard that name? Cicero? Or merely just glimpsed a jester in your travels? I assume he'd be easy to spot, in this province..."

"I find it unsettling that a child would know how to fix a wagon wheel. Or thinking about a child attempting to fix one. No offense to you, of course." The woman paused, rubbing her nose in thought, "But...Connor did mention he saw a short man in a jester costume, around Whiterun, once. I think he said he spoke to the man briefly. He spoke in third person and just spoke strangely. And had a very high pitched voice that made my son regret speaking to him." The Sauveterre shrugged.

"Oh! But Connor did mention the man was near Whiterun's one farm, it began with an L. It may have been because his wagon was broke, like you had in your writing. Connie said he would have helped, but he has a height limit on who he will help and the man did not meet the required height. That is mean, no?" Shealyne questioned. Unless...was...was that the joke?

"But, perhaps we can ask around sometime? Find out?" The Breton suggested.

"Really?" Mathieu said. "Yes, from my diary..." To clarify himself, he pulled out his new diary from his satchel, flipping through few pages until he found the entry. "... The jester must have been short, and had a 'weird' voice..." Damn, child him needed writing lessons. Child him would likely never get those lessons. "And, apparently I myself didn't fix his wheel. I 'helpt him by makeing the man up the hill fix his wagon weel.' I suppose that was the man running the farm..."

Shealyne inched herself closer to peer at the diary better. She laughed heartedly, fangs on full display, "Sithis, you have the most gorgeous hand writing I know, but then it all goes out the window with child-you." The woman resumed to laugh.

Ahhh. It felt good to laugh, "Perhaps I can try and teach child-you to spell better, no?"

Mathieu chuckled. "Oh. I would let you... But I already taught myself when I was a child. An, actual child, I mean... I'd rather not be educated again." He was both unsettled and humored by the mental image of he, a full-grown man, acting like a little boy with a high-pitched voice and all being mentored in grammar by his lover. Former lover. Possible lover? Shealyne was right, their status together was confusing.

The woman laughed, "And child-you has surely remembered those lessons well." Shealyne smiled, going silent, before laughing again.

"Oh! I can only imagine how child-you made the man fix that wheel! The man probably thought you were delayed!" The Sauveterre attempted to stiffle her laughter, but she just found the thought funny.

She did, however, managed to control herself to the point of an occassional giggle, "Ah, I apologize. I should not laugh. But it feels good to laugh."

Mathieu put his head in his hands, though fighting to quell his own laughter. "By the Nine... I'd imagine he met Cicero first, as well... What an eventful day that man had. First some short, annoying jester, and then a man that behaved as if he was dropped on his head as a small child... I'd assumed he helped me out of pity."

"Pfff! I could only imagine the temper tantrum that would have happened if he said no. Ha-ha! Perhaps we should go visit the farmer, sometime? If only to apologize. And secretly find out what happened." The Sauveterre smiled, patting Mathieu upon his shoulder.

"Ah, you can make an ass out of me when I black out, no? Tell me what happened. Apparently I was confused about the function of an inn." Shealyne laughed once more, "It appears that we both act as if we were dropped on our heads as children."

It was funny. The laughing. It felt good to laugh. She found the situation funny, and ironic, and that made her laugh.

"Tch. How am I to explain to the farmer? 'I apologize, at times I black out and act like a little boy without even knowing?' He wouldn't take to that pleasantly." Bellamont was certainly still frightened by this situation, no doubt - yet humoring the subject made his anxiousness alleviate. If only temporarily.

"Bah, just say you were not in the right frame of mind. We can talk about it later, no? Poor Eola has been waiting for quite the time." Shealyne suggested, extending a feminine hand to help the man up from his seat.

She could whine about the cannibalism later.

Mathieu accepted the hand and pulled himself up from the ledge.

"Actually, I was just coming over to retrieve you two." Once more, it seemed Eola had materialized from thin air. She was standing a yard away. "And don't worry. I only caught the tail end of your conversation. Sounds like you two were enjoying yourselves." She smiled.

"Just making asses out of ourselves..." The Sauveterre murmured. And talking about wagon wheels. And their queer selves.

Damn illusion magic. That woman was probably eavesdropping the whole damn time. Pah! Shealyne could do the same thing she always did. The Sauveterre would have seen Eola is she was using her night vision. But having night vision during the day was hard on her eye and damn blinding. Even if everything was a shade of blue and sparkles.

The woman was so caught up by her own thoughts and she failed to let go of her Brother's hand. So she absentmindedly kept her grip. Until the pulsing of warmth in his veins made her realize, and thus she let go, "Oh. Apologies."

"None needed." Mathieu said. He then put his diary back in place of a map, unrolling it. Tracing a finger along the main road from the Reach to Solitude, or any invisible paths on the map he seemed to be aware of, he asked, "You're still willing to travel to Solitude, Shealyne?"

The woman nodded, "I am fine to go there, yes." Though not really. Her mother was probably still there. And after Solitude, she should probably head back to Whiterun to check on her boys...

"Good. Well, we'll likely go farther into the Reach, 'till we're nearing Markarth, and follow the river north and past the mountains. Or there could be a possibly shorter route straight through here to reach Dragon Bridge. Albeit more dangerous."

Eola piped up, "If we take the longer road, we could borrow some horses."

"Borrow? From the stables, you mean? I thought Banning, only took care of his dogs -"

"Not the stables. I spotted a Stormcloak camp the other day, near the mountainside. I say we steal their horses." The woman stated.

Mathieu smirked at that suggestion.

"Danger." Was the Sauveterre's simple reply. Fuck horses. They hurt her cunt when she sat on them. But that was because she was not used to riding on horses, "Short and swift, yes?"

Mathieu shrugged. "If you say so. Depending on if we come across anything, we'd likely make it to Dragon Bridge by nightfall." Rolling his map, checking to assure everything was on his person, they started north, towards rugged plains teeming with troubles.

"If I say so? That simple? No 'the majority rules'?" The woman questioned. Well, okay, then. That was easy.

"Tch. It does not much matter to me, what path we take." Mathieu said. "I'm sure we'll find a small forsworn settlement to slaughter, either way."

"Good. Then I can take one of their woman's clothes." Shealyne was quite pleased at that.

"Oh? Wishing for a change of fashion?" Eola asked, looking Shealyne over.

"I tire of the same cloth shirt and leather trousers. Though I assume it will be strange wearing something that is just a bra and panties." Or may as well be. The Forsworn tops just looked like bras. And Shealyne wasn't used to bras. Or walking around in something akin to panties. Eh. Apparently she had an attractive body. Ruccia mentioned she would kill to have her legs. Well, Shealyne would kill to have Ruccia's face, so she guessed it was even. The Breton guessed walking around in bra and panties wouldn't kill anyone.

"It's reasonable. I at times would wear one myself. I've padded through a few forsworn camps unnoticed with them on, funny little headdress and all, if I played the cards right. Managed to clear out most of one camp. Sent them all into a panic to find me..." As Eola reminisced, she laughed lightly, "Oh, it was delightful. A real feast for the eyes. You should try it, sometime."

"Feast for the eyes?" Shealyne echoed, brows furrowing in confusion.

Mathieu peered over his shoulder, "She means it was pleasing to watch..." 'That woman and her cannibal puns...' He thought to himself.

"Oh. The destruction? I thought she meant the people. To look at." Shealyne would have just stared at the men and tried to guess which was the tribe stud based on their sausage sizes.

Mathieu couldn't help but crack up a little.

"Hmph. It goes both ways, really. I presume." Eola said. "I had enough to eat for weeks after that."

Hmmm? Shealyne was a bit confused. Did she say something funny? She assumed she wasn't getting something and said something funny-foolish instead. Cannibals... "Then you would have gotten fat, no?" The woman questioned. If she ate a weeks' worth of food, she would have popped like a tick. Probably. Or just vomited a lot.

Eola smiled. "Pfft. Not exactly. You can store and preserve human just like any other food. Delivering it to Reachcliff was quite a task, though. I had to get a wagon. But I couldn't find a horse to pull it."

All this talk of cannibals got Shealyne excited! She went to open her mouth, to tell Mathieu that she encountered cannibals similar to the fat one and his father. To tell Mathieu that she killed fifteen of them singlehandedly. And with their own weapons, too! And that she could be strong and get passed the terror! She wasn't even scathed during the battle!

She was so excited! She wanted nothing more than to blabber away to her Dearest Brother about how she could brutally slaughter cannibals!

But as soon as the woman opened her mouth to speak, her jaw clamped shut. She could not say that. Talking about how ecstatic it felt to put down those walking abortions when her traveling companions were cannibals? Mathieu was a cannibal?

No. She could not do that. The Sauveterre just did not understand. He knew what she went through! How she felt! But if Mathieu had one cannibal friend, he damn well had to have others. And clearly he didn't care about how she felt on that matter.

Shealyne didn't want Mathieu to be like the others. She wasn't sure if there were good cannibals, but all the ones she met were bad. And that made her sad. She didn't want her Brother to remind her of them.

The woman was unsure what to say. Though upon hearing the word 'horse', she figured she could add something, "I knew an Orc that liked to eat horses...she would make horse soup."

Mathieu finally spoke up, after attentive time surveying their surroundings while they walked. "Wasn't that orc the one that ran the stables, outside the Imperial City? I actually recall coming across her." He smirked. Then narrowed his eyes. "She ate my damn horse."

The Sauveterre nodded, smiling, "Ha! Yes, that is the one! Was it a good horse? What did you do? I had a horse once. It was a bag of bones paint horse."

"It was. A fine white one from Anvil's stables. And... I poisoned one of her meals. Didn't kill her. Just gave her a... Wide array of symptoms."

"That taught her, I suppose." Shealyne spoke. Her brow furrowed though, "Mathieu? Do you eat innocent people?"

Well. That came out of the blue. At least, Mathieu thought it did. Although they were having a casual chat about eating people a minute ago; Mathieu just didn't plan on discussing HIM eating people until tonight, privately. The man frowned, and glanced to Eola - who looked indifferent - then to Shealyne.

"Define innocent." Oops. That was a telltale answer in itself, wasn't it?

Shealyne promptly ignored Mathieu's words. Mainly because she was beyond livid. She was so fucking livid she almost didn't feel anything. Her hand formed into a fist so tight her bones were popping and and her nails were cutting into her skin.

Despite her fist, it was the only sign of her anger. Her face was blank; stoic.

She wanted nothing more than to punch him right in the face and break open his skull. She wanted to yell at him. Say he was no fucking better, no fucking different than them.

She didn't even know why she was traveling with them anymore. For Mathieu, because she wanted to spend time with him. That was obvious. Yet she didn't even want to go to Solid-fucking-tude. She didn't want to travel with a pair of fucking cannibals and be a third fucking wheel to their fuck-eat-orgy parties.

Shealyne had wanted nothing more to tell him to go fuck himself and turn around and walk her ass right back to Whiterun.

But she didn't. Rather, the red head simply remained silent, seething and simmering as she simply walked behind the man.

Mathieu could just tell he made a mistake. Shealyne's face was inscrutable, but he saw her fist, knuckles white as bone from the pressure and even a little blood running down her fingers from her nails. Bellamont's frown etched deeper. His face pained, he mouthed 'I'm sorry' before turning his head back to the land. He assumed he may not work it out with her now; he already had a hunch of exactly what she thought, and that it would take some convincing. He assumed he couldn't tell her now that he's been doing this for longer than she believed. Eola still looked unaware of the situation.

Shealyne was hurt. She was hurt, and she was enraged. That fuck. She just couldn't understand it. Why? How could he be a cannibal? After the things he saw? After the things he went through to save her? And worse! A cannibal that ate innocent people! The woman frowned. She wanted to cry, but did not. She could accept him being a cannibal. She knew she could do that. But...innocent people? Why? Why not just bad people? Killers? Murderers? Rapists?

The woman resumed her frowning, and her silence. Her eye simply cast its gaze downwards, glued to the dirt in front of her boots.

Mathieu felt the need to halt where he was and straighten things out with Shealyne, like they have been doing quite well. But he couldn't. Not with Eola here. Soon he was becoming angry himself, though whether it was at Shealyne or his antics or even Eola was unclear. Mathieu walked faster. Eola matched his pace. He was swiveling his head, side-to-side, scanning and studying -

"Mathieu!-"

The man couldn't spin around before he was pushed by Eola, hearing the whistle of a gnarled arrow race past his head. He stumbled sideways. Looked back - there was a forsworn walking out behind a tree, already knocking another arrow in her bow. And so Eola was already shooting a fireball before he could grab his crossbow.

Shealyne blinked. Upon realizing what was happening, mana swelled within both palms. In one, she summoned a Storm Atronach, which simply began to blast a bolt of lightning at the Forsworn.

From her second cast, a Shambles was summoned. The odd mess of bones released a harrowed yet shrill hiss, talons ready. Yet the Shambles simply towered over its master, Shealyne herself unsheathing Dawnfang.

The forsworn woman was able to sidestep Eola's fireball, shooting an arrow at the cannibal - but her aiming gave enough time for Shealyne's storm atronach to pierce her with a lightning bolt. Light flashed and thunder clapped - the forsworn was sent back into the ground, electricity flowing through her body.

Just as one forsworn dropped, three more emerged from hidden places. Mathieu shot the crossbow at one as they moved. Suddenly that one tumbled down onto the earth. One could barely see the tail of the bolt, embedded deep in the skull.

The other two kept their distance, shooting magic at the three.

Shealyne, while not wanting to waste magica, did cast a hastey silence spell at one of the Forsworn. She was warry of a possible flank attack, and as such, remained where she was. Though it was arguably out of laziness. She wasn't running up a fucking steep cliff just to kill one Forsworn. Well, two, but still. She figured if antone got hurt, she could just get to them faster.

The Storm Atronach charged another lightning bolt, and soon shot the spell forth. Thunder echoed and roared as the bolt shot at an offensive Forsworn.

The Shambles hissed shrilly, bones clicking and clacking together to show its rage. Despite this, the undead predator remained by its master's side. If anything, its towering height served as a type of shield defense for its allies.

One forsworn was able to hurl an ice bolt - which careened at Eola and lanced into her shoulder - before Shealyne's silence spell took effect. Angered, the forsworn unsheathed two axes and charged forth. His companion was shot to the ground. Same as the first - but it seemed she was still alive, getting up and not relenting in her attacks.

A cry. Mathieu was rushed from the flank by another hidden enemy. Tackled down. He quickly rolled on his back to face this one - he kicked - and thrust the front of his crossbow upward, smashing into the ambusher's chin to make him step back. Mathieu regained himself. At the corner of his eye, he saw yet one more jumping down the mountainside to strike Shealyne from above. "Above you!" He called.

Shealyne then allowed her Shambles to hunt, the Daedra roaring, a raspy, haunting scream rupturing from its bone maw. The undead predator then charged upon the silenced Forsworn, getting itself between Eola and the threat. With a gutteral hiss, the Shambles raised its talons to strike and skewer the offending Forsworn.

The Storm Atronach boomed and rumbled in rage, deciding to whirlwind its way over to the female Forsworn that survived the shot to the ground, lightning cackling in its wake.

With her Shambles off the leash-and the Breton distracted by her struggling companions-Shealyne had very little time to react to the attacker. The only thing she could do was raise Dawnfang in an attempt to parry and prevent a fatal injury.

The surviving forsworn was backing up as the storm atronach got closer, though it was quickly closing the gap, and loaded and fired her bow at the deadra as fast as she could to hinder it.

Mathieu's attacker snapped out from their daze. In the second he glanced away the forsworn lunged, two swords held straight forward - they plunged into Mathieu's stomach and twisted, churning his insides. He let out a strangled gasp. Eola turned; with her good arm she gripped a steel blade. She dashed and charged into the forsworn, stabbing his side and bringing him down with her.

Shealyne's attacker met dawnfang, which blocked his blow, but he still crashed on top of the vampire. He was steadfast in lifting his axe again.

"Zun!"

And then his axe was gone. Ripped from his hands by a bluish force, flung from reach.

If an Atronach could frown, the Daedra certainly would be at this point. The creature then clapped its rocky hands together, a rumble and boom resounding. Twin bolts of lightning then shot from its elemental hands and raced towards the attacker.

Shealyne, upon being knocked down to the ground, realized once more why she disliked Dawnfang's blade length. She had trouble manuvering the damn thing to attack to properly block or strike. But at least the blade proved true when the woman claimed it to be reliable.

The Breton was confused-but thankful-to have her attackers weapons be magically ripped away by thw blue magic thing. What was that? A Shout thing? She would need to thank her Brother later.

The woman then poised Dawnfang, and rammed the blade through the Forsworn. The two sided blade was certainly hungry, for not only did it pierce and churn the man's insides, but its searing fire set his entrails ablaze.

The Forsworn could do little more than scream as Dawnfang fed upon his leeching soul, and claimed it as the man fell silent, limp, and reeking of burnt flesh. The Sauveterre furrowed her brow and scrunched her nose in disgust, rolling the man off of her and righting herself on her knees as she beckoned Dawnfang from its kill.

The woman turned to see how Mathieu was dealing with his attacker. She assumed the Forsworn was already dead, since he used the weapon rippy thingy to help her. What she saw almost made her heart jump in start, "Mmm-Mathieu!" Shealyne cried, moving far faster on shaken legs than she knew she could to reach his side, skidding as she dropped to her knees, inspecting the damage as mana began to swell in her palms.

Like the previous time, the forsworn woman could not evade the lightning darting at her; unlike the previous time, it looked liked she would stay dead when she hit the ground.

The two swords were lodged through Mathieu's stomach. Blood gushed from the wounds, painting the swords, staining his robes on both sides. Mathieu had faltered to his knees after he Shouted. Then he weakly sat down - though it hurt immensely. He tried tugging at the swords. Ouch. Nope. Some of the swords' sharp teeth were embedded inside; if one were to rip it out, his guts would tear apart and Mathieu would most likely bleed out. Eola got up, having dealt with the last forsworn, and was at Mathieu's side in an instant. She looked a lot less distressed than Shealyne, though.

The other woman grabbed one of the sword hilts, "Hm. We need to find a way to get these out. Without killing him in the process."

Shealyne already had two Restoration spells pulsing within her palms. Her answer was simple, "Just pull the blades out whilst I heal him. Unless you want to ram the blades through him, handle and all. I would not suggest that." The Sauveterre spoke.

Hmmm. Though there was Visceromancy. She could try that. No. Shealyne was not good enough. That, and Visceromancy was mainly used for reading organs or blood to scry and see memories. She doubted it could be used to manipulate blood or organs.

Eola nodded, though she was a bit uncertain. She didn't know restoration spells good enough to heal this amount of damage (which was mostly internal.) Then again, she didn't specialize in restoration. Mainly illusion and destruction. She just hoped the vampire wouldn't try to cause more harm to Mathieu out of spite for well, eating people. She didn't seem to like that.

Before she grasped the sword handles, Eola grabbed a sturdy stick off the ground and forced it in Mathieu's mouth, between his teeth. Hopefully to suppress his screaming. Clasping the blades, she made sure Shealyne was ready before slowly pulling them out.

As the blades were pulled out, the Silencer focused on pulsing her spells deep within the man's organs. The warm pulses flooded Mathieu's entrails, healing and repairing the damage done by the blades.

Hmmm. Shealyne had to admit, this was far easier than treating Aiden. But Mathieu just had blades in his gut. Aiden had his rib cage smashed and was choking on his blood from the inside.

Despite the warm pulses of the spells dulling the pain of the blades, it was still unbearable. Mathieu clenched his fists into the ground, ripping up grass, fingers digging into dirt; he clamped his teeth on the stick to stop himself from screeching.

Yet, just as the pain came over him, so too did it end as swiftly. Eola had eased the swords out, and Shealyne's healing patched up any damage in its wake. Though his robe was a little torn. Oh well. Mathieu looked down at his stomach. He spat the stick out of his mouth, and said without looking up, "... Th, thanks, you two..."

"None necessary." Shealyne spoke, smiling slightly, "Do you require aid to move, or do you want to rest a bit?"

"No. It's, fine-!"

Mathieu leaned forward, beginning to stand, and he winced as if sharply jabbed in the gut. He was unsure if Shealyne had healed all the damage. Her spells were strong, however. It must be some aftereffect. And it felt weird. Like needles were poking his guts.

The woman furrowed her brows in concern, "Eola, check to see if none of the spikes on the blades broke off." Shealyne ordered, "Er, please?"

That would be bad. Very bad, "Do not try to move, Mathieu. Not until we can rule that scenario out." Any movement might make him bleed out internally...she hoped it was just something weird, like his body still sore and pained, and not a broken off bone spike.

Eola examined the swords. Counted the spikes. "I don't believe so."

Mathieu sat there moments more before daring to move, just slight stretching his body. The pain was not felt. "I, think it's fine now... Must not have, entirely quelled the pain of ripping them out... But it's alright." He then slowly got to his feet.

"No broken off points? Hmmm. Very, well." Shealyne spoke, putting a hand on Mathieu, as if to support him, "Let us know of any pain, yes?"

The woman's Storm Atronach was then summoned back to the Waters of Oblivion. Her Shambles, however, wandered back to the group, hissing, and sporting a dead Forsworn skewered upon its talons.

"Ah. Good!" Shealyne was pleased. She could get her Forsworn attire now! And it was not too damaged! Just a bit bloody...

Mathieu simply nodded. He and Eola gazed around at the battle scene, the blood, the forsworn...

"At least you got your wish, Shealyne." Eola chuckled, as if reading Shealyne's mind.

The woman nodded, "Yes, yes. Excuse me. I will go and change."

Before leaving, however, the woman noticed Mathieu's staring. As such, Shealyne bared her fangs, and gave a feral, almost feline like hiss in warning, eye hard and dark.

The Breton then turned around, and decided to leave the two be for a bit as she walked off. The Shambles followed behind the Silencer, dragging the body.

Mathieu was taken aback by Shealyne's hostility. He turned around, back facing her as the vampire left. A minute passed.

"... I'm guessing now, that was a secret better left hidden from her?" Eola said.

Mathieu, sighing, responded, "Let her know it. I've kept it from her for long enough. She has her own secrets I'm not content with, either."

Shealyne took her time changing. Mainly because she had difficulty putting the attired on. She had difficultly telling where her head or legs went through the loose holes.

The sound of crying, however, got her attention. It was more akin to a soft murmur or whimper, but the Breton heard it none the less. After careful poking and prodding along the rocks, the Sauveterre found a tiny hole within the rocks. It was too small for her to fit through, and she could see nothing in the darkness of the tiny cave.

She allowed her eye to adjust to the blackness, and found that there was, indeed, something inside. Or someone. Which was a baby, sitting upon the cold and jagged stone, pale face flushed red from crying. The baby resumed to whimper and softly cry, chubby cheeks streamed with tears. The baby had wisps of blonde hair, and blue eyes. Her pudgy belly was covered in a make shift shirt, which was a burlap sack. The course material had rubbed parts of the baby's delicate skin red and raw.

The baby certainly was not happy. And Shealyne frowned. Awe. Poor thing. She wondered if it was stuffed in there by a parent attempting to draw the Forsworn away? The woman attempted to stuff an arm in to reach for the baby, but the action scared her, and the baby whimpered and cried, chubby arms flailing and attempting to bat the scary thing away.

Shealyne's frown deepened as she retracted her arm. Hmmm. Cooing could help? Maybe? Then the baby would not be so scared?

"Shhhh. It is okay. It is okay. Awe, look at you? There is no need to be scared, honey." The Breton cooed, tone soft and warm. The baby appeared to calm, ceasing her crying to a wimper, lower lip trembling.

The two bretons swore they heard crying from the direction Shealyne left. "...Is she?..."

Eola shrugged. "It doesn't sounded like a woman crying. But it is faint... I'm not sure."

Mathieu decided to check on Shealyne, though only went a couple bounds to where Shealyne headed, not wanting to catch her changing or something. Not that it would faze him.

"Shealyne? We heard something... Are you alright?" The man called over.

A 'Yes.' was heard in response.

Though Shealyne herself was okay. Kind of. The awkward rocky terrain made her get on her stomach to try and bettet see the baby, her head practically bonking against the stone as her arm dangled for something. But it was harder to fish out a baby than she thought. More so due to the narrowness of the mini cave, and the jagged rocks that were in it. Good thing she was flexible and double jointed. If she were not, she was pretty sure she would have broken her arm. It was already feeling the strain of being twisted so far.

The woman managed to grasp onto the course sack that made the baby's clothing. She then attempted to lift and drag the baby.

Sithis, children were heavier than she remembered...and she wanted to be careful in pulling the baby out with the rocks around her.

The baby resumed to whimper and cry, batting at the hand, now scared.

Mathieu and Eola exchanged glances. Mathieu went to get closer to where Shealyne was, but Eola shook her head and told him to wait.

The Breton woman eventually brought the baby out of the mini cave, the baby now crying because the light hurt her eyes, pudgy arms flailing and tears once more staining her chubby cheeks.

"Shhhh." The Sauveterre cooed, pressing the baby against her chest and lightly bouncing her, "It is okay, little one."

The baby seemed to find comfort at being rocked and hearing a soothing, motherly voice. Though she did tremble, her crying had ceased.

"There you go...that was not hard, was it?" Shealyne questioned, tone soft and sweet. The woman briefly looked on the ground. Her satchel was still there, as were her shirt and pants. Hmmmm. Well, it looks like she will lose her shirt. Good thing she decided to want a Forsworn bra...

"Uh...Mathieu? Do infants fall under your diet preference?" The woman called in question.

Mathieu was certainly bemused at the random question. "I... No! Why!?-" But then he pursed his lips, frowning, as if he just realized it. Wait... What? Was that the crying they heard? No... He ambled over in Shealyne's direction through the rocky terrain until he spotted the vampire. And he halted right there. "... By the Nine." Said the man.

"More specifically...a year and a half old baby." The woman took a guestimate. Though she was perplexed by Mathieu's response, she took that as a 'yes'. Babies were innocent, after all. And they had a lot of tender fat on them.

With one arm, Shealyne propped the toddler on her hip, which she jutted out slightly to better support the baby. With her free hand, she worked on getting the sack off. The woman briefly set the butt naked baby down on the ground as she went to grab her shirt that was left on the ground, bending over.

The baby took the opportunity to run like the wind! Or, rather, waddle as fast as her mini thunder thighs could carry her. Which was not fast at all.

The toddler looked upon Mathieu, and smiled, producing a gummy smile as her dimples formed around her mouth. With a mighty war cry, the baby made a charge towards the man, chubby arms flailing and portly belly quaking with each slap of her tiny feet padding upon the rock.

"Eeeee!" The infant shouted, which was the only sound that could be made. The rest was just random baby babble as she spouted nonsense happily.

The baby ended up falling upon the male Breton's boot. Though if anything, the toddler found it funny, for she laughed and smiled, resuming to babble happily.


End file.
